


Vessel

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Category: Castle Rock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, Panic Attacks, Psychological Trauma, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-06-29 12:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 65,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15729474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: "Behold, I will tell you a mystery.We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed.In the moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet, and we will be changed.For the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised, imperishable, and we will all be changed.For this perishable must put on the imperishable, and this mortal must put on...Immortality."~~~He didn't know how exactly he ended up in his situation, dragged through the snow til it felt like his feet were going to fall off, hands bound and mouth gagged.He didn't know it was only the start.Or : the Kid's memory is foggy as Warden Lacy is dragging him into the back of his trunk, but he knows enough to know that what is happening to him isn't good. He also knows enough to shut up and endure his 27 long years of torture.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Glad this show will still be running when I'm in school at least I will have something to look forward to. 
> 
> I have this theory on who the Kid might be that has about a .2% chance of being correct but I will run with it anyways. 
> 
> Edit : hey y'all that episode "The Queen" killed me haven't cried like that for awhile that closing shot with the chessmen...Jesus Christ this sucks

The hands dragging him are cold, but his bare feet are colder. 

Everything feels blurry, as if he was remembering it from a time before but nothing else comes to him when he tries to recall it, nothing but scraps of what might have been his life and even then he isn't sure because he is trying to focus on kicking the man who is grabbing him, on finding the perfect way to twist his body so the hands around him slip but every step he takes the man, who he assumes is trying to kidnap him, seems to be three ahead. 

He knows someone who's always three steps ahead doesn't he, an actual person? The sense of them invades him so he screams loud into the night, feet finally finding purchase even as the cold snow burns his bare skin, enough to tip forward and have them both come crashing down. 

He has to fight. To get back to the man who is always three steps ahead. His memory is mostly gone but it leaves behind the trace of this man. In fact, he looks hard enough while screaming and fighting that something pops into his mind and makes him falter for a moment. 

The memory starts with a conversation and the blurry outline of the three steps man. 

~~~

_“Where's my daddy? Where are we?”_

__

__

_“Relax child. All will be answered in time, trust me.”_

_“Where are we though? This isn't -_

~~~

“ - Castle Rock has suffered long enough, I asked God to shew me the way through our darkness -” 

And now the words in his mind aren't a memory but right there, right next to his ear as he writhes on the ground, trying to keep himself from being bound. When has the man gotten rope? 

“And he answered my call, he brought me to you boy, and told me that you were the Devil, you are what is wrong with this town -” 

~~~

 _“I said all will be answered soon, boy. You just need to trust me.”_

~~~

Somehow the man manages to get the ropes around him and tight enough so he can't escape, or maybe he just fell blank in remembrance. Either way it doesn't change when the man hauls him up and towards a car. A nice car with the trunk open. 

He screams one more time into the night, but nothing answers back. 

~~~

He fights even in the darkness of the trunk, hands and feet tied to make him harmless, still in his pajamas. 

Where had he been before this? What had happened? His head hurts trying to remember so instead he bangs on the lid of the trunk again with his bound hands, voice muffled from the gag around it. 

His movements feel sluggish as he did so, the faint cries he lets out weak and unheard. 

( _I asked God to shew me the way, he panted over the bound boy and he wanted to cry and scream it wasn't his fault bad things followed him he didn't CAUSE them, he led me to you and told me that the Devil was a boy_ ) 

He doesn't know where they are going. Doesn't know the final destination. If he understood better, he would have stopped fighting. 

He would have known it was pointless. 

~~~

The car stops, abruptly. 

Even though he knows it can't be true he hopes that the man had a change of heart, that he would let him go. 

He hears footsteps approaching the back after a beat, and fights harder, if only to somehow show his innocence 

( _Is he innocent though? He sure knows some stuff, oh gee he sure does, stuff he might have done or set off but is there any proof to warrant his arrest?_ ) 

through his movements. They come closer, til they are right above him and he can almost feel the way the hands are poised on the lid of the trunk, as if it were him. 

The trunk pops open. A man, not the one who had taken him stares back down, eyes widened with horror but not pity. He fights again, fights to show the new man that he is not supposed to be there. The rag bites into the sides of his mouth and his wrists strain against the ropes. 

The new man stares a moment longer. He tries again to scream, to convey just how wrong his predicament was 

( _But was it really, hmm that's the real question because God shewed your captor the way to the Devil and it was you boy, are you the Devil? You asked for proof and you got it, a signed statement from the Lord_ ) 

but instead of hauling him out and untying him, the man strides forward after a moment and put both hands on the trunk. He was going to close it again he realizes, close him in the darkness and allow his captor to escape with him. 

It was cold outside for the brief moment he was allowed to feel it, and when the trunk slams shut on him once again and the car starts up, carting him away to some unknown place, he thinks that he should have tried to remember that cold feeling once more. 

He wouldn't feel anything like it again for twenty seven years. 

~~~

A cage. 

He was going to be caged like an animal. 

When the kidnapper undoes his bindings and removes his gag he screams as loud as he can, even though he is sure it would do nothing. The man just looks at him with an odd face, as if he was actually seeing him for the first time, 

( _I’m a kid he thinks desperately but he's also not sure if that's exactly true he's not sure what he is but he knows that he's not some caged animal_ ) 

as a fellow human being. 

“Scream all you want,” he says after a moment, and his voice is not mean. It's blank, as if he is reciting facts. “No one but you and I will ever hear you.” 

He screams louder, even though he knows it is true. 

~~~ 

Time passed. A lot of time. Enough to the point that he stops trying to get his way out. 

There is no out. There will be out when he dies. 

He hopes it comes soon. 

~~~

He had a name at one point, he assumed. Something he was marked with at birth, so that others could point and exclaim it, so that they could identify him. 

There was no one but the man to identify him now. But even then, his captor already thought he knew who he was and that something 

( _he shew me the way you son-of-a-bitch! The words were hot in his ear as he screamed, feet dragging in the cold snow as the man wrestled him into the trunk and his mind cries out for proof but he already knows what it is)_

was not a creature that deserved a name. Perhaps the man was even right. Bad had always followed him, this he knew even when other memories, basic facts he should know ebbed away even as he tried to hold onto them. 

His mind was hazy but the few things he could coherently hold onto showed him who he was, or at least what he could do. 

( _Not consciously, he wanted to protest but what does it matter if its conscious or not, people still die boy and you're still as evil as they come aren't you? Signed Statement from the Lord to the man and everything!)_

There was the dog, for one. He never told anybody, partly because there was no one to tell but that dog hadn’t been rabid had it? He had watched it, had pet the beast and it changed under his hands into something else. Men murdered their wives and wives poisoned their husbands, children died and families were ruined by him. How, he didn't know. 

He was starting to think his captor was right to keep him in a cage. 

~~~

Sometimes the man gets angry. 

He can tell when those days are upon him and he shrinks farther into the makeshift cage, long limbs folded to be as small and unassuming as possible. The cold metal bars dig into his back but it's a small price to pay for what could happen. 

He doesn't know why he fears pain. It's not like he can truly be injured. A snapped wrist, he had discovered earlier in his stay, would easily fix itself in a matter of minutes. But something about the sound of the snap itself, of the shouts of the other man and his own whimpers that he can't seem to stop make it hard to accept when it is happening. 

On those days, the man sometimes would try to trick him with food. He would set the tray down quietly and sit, smoking a cigarette. Earlier he would creep forward from the recesses of the cage and put a cautious hand through one slit, grabbing the bread to bring it back to him. 

His wrist would be grasped, yanked forward until his arm could no longer fit through the whole. 

“What are you?” the man would shout at him, as if he had any answers. He didn't know. If he knew he would open his mouth and match the other man's scream to tell him, if only for the hand encircling him to let go so he could feed himself, gorge on the white bread. 

“WHAT ARE YOU?”

He wanted to shrink back from the words, but instead let the man continue to yank on his wrist, face pressed into the bars from the pressure. He didn't look at him, instead focusing on the floor. He could hardly see it, could hardly make out the slight divets and tiny rocks that lay on it, but the floor was a better place to gaze at then the angry eyes of his captor. 

“You don't need this, do you? You don't need to eat because you aren't human you bastard.” His hand would grow tighter around his wrist, willing him to drop the bread. He didn't want to. He had eaten nothing but the bread for years, and he agreed with the man that he didn't need to eat. But whatever he was, hunger still caved his chest in and at those moments, the bread seemed like the most delicious meal in the world to him. 

“Let go of it, Devil.” the man hissed at him, pressure mounting on his wrist. He made the mistake of glancing up at the man, which seemed to infuriate him even more, enough to pull again and this time, this time a _snap!_ resonates with it along with sharp hot pain so he dropped it, a thin cry drawn from his lips. 

It hurt. He drew his wrist back as soon as the man let it go, almost as if he was in shock. 

Hurts, hurts, hurts. 

( _He could hurt the man, he lashes out in his own mind but at the same time he knows he can't he doesn't know why but he CAN'T_ ) 

He continued to cry out. He couldn't help it, with the way the pain stabs through his arm and pulses at his wrist, so hot he's almost afraid to touch it but got over his fear and carefully wrapped his other hand around it. 

Broken. The man had broken his wrist over two slices of bread. 

The man left quickly after that and didn't pick up the bread on his way, so even though his wrist throbbed and he realized actual tears ( _water he couldn't afford to goddamn waste_ ) were squeezing out from his squinted eyes he reached through the bars and grabbed the bread, bringing it back to himself. 

He ate it as quickly as he could, with one hand. It tasted like the dirt and rot it had laid on for a few moments but it had been enough to permeate it. 

His broken wrist was healed by the time he woke up the next day. 

~~~

It was him, wasn't it? The man wasn't violent in his day to day life was he, he was a kind man, a decent man, one who wanted to rehabilitate instead of punish. 

It was him who caused the man to get angry and scream and shout. It was him.

( _The slightly glazed over look in the man's eyes when he shouts made him almost want to try and push it, project what he wanted onto him and see if it works but another part of him says that the man is right to punish him, that nothing good will ever come from him so he listens to that part and shuts the fuck up_ ) 

So when the man descends with no tray in hand and fury in his curled fists he doesn't say anything. Doesn't beg or plead, doesn't try to bargain. 

He says nothing but backs into the corner of his cage for safety. 

~~~ 

The man is kind other times. It confused him at first, to have the man cut his nails and shave his face, to listen to him read from the Bible in his steady voice 

( _Sometimes he wondered if the man thought the quotes had power over him, if they contained him and kept him at bay but in reality he just really liked the sound of another voice that wasn't screaming at him so he listened intently on these rare good days_ ) 

and sometimes, even feel a hand brush against his cheek. 

He didn't know how the good days made him feel. He didn't know if he felt anything anymore, or if he even had in the first place. His first couple nights in the cage he thought he had felt panic perhaps, but the memories were old now. They were decades ago. Who knew how he had truly felt. 

All he knew was that the steady voice that read the scripture aloud was the greatest kindness he had been allowed in his prison. 

~~~

More time passed. He could no longer remember even the first memory of being locked in a trunk, feet dragging through the snow and the his own panting cries. Only the cage remained, stark and cold and unyielding.

It was a rare good day, the man's face arranged into something more pleasant. He He had a tray with him, one that he couldn't help but notice was filled with more than just bread. 

An extraordinarily good day then. 

He half listens to what the man is saying but his eyes are focused solely on the tray. He has one arm wrapped around the bar, ready to grab it as soon as it slides over again. 

This is a meal worth getting a broken wrist for. 

When the tray does move to him he has a grip on it as soon as possible, hand almost shielding it as he tries to study what exactly is in it. 

Two slices of bread. A carton - of what? His eyes make out the word milk and he is satisfied. And some fruit, bathed in its own juice. His mouth waters at the mere thought. 

He goes for the fruit first, hand scooping most of it out since the tray does not fit through the bars and marvels at the feel of it in his hand. It is not airy the way the bread is but almost dense, like all of it has a real weight. His fingers feel sticky from the juice as well, and he thinks in the back of his mind that when the man is gone he will lick them clean, wishing he had eaten slower, savored it more. 

He brings it to his mouth quickly, as to not let the juice spill from it. Opens wide and lets the fruit slide in, all while listening to the man as he reads from the bible 

( _He can't believe the warm feeling he has, as if he is happy and satisfied with his life - how can he be so complacent in listening to the sermons and eating a handful of fucking lukewarm canned fruit?_ ) 

and it tastes amazing, for a moment. Then his brain catches up to his taste buds.

Too sweet. Much to sweet and the taste coats his tongue, his whole mouth with its syrup, enough to make him dry heave the food out of his mouth 

( _He wonders later on if the man did it on purpose, knew it would just make him sick but the look of disgust on his face makes him think otherwise -_ ) 

and onto the floor of his cage. But that taste is still in his whole mouth so he heaves once more, this time not dry and the meager contents of his stomach spatter the floor and his clothing. 

“Godda -” 

( _-mm filthy hands on MY son -_ ) 

“-mmit boy, what is wrong with you?” the man says from his seat, watching in disgust as he heaves one last time and almost nothing leaves his mouth. The sermon stops as he watches on. He does not answer.

And he does not eat the rest of the meal. 

~~~

His presence in the prison was not entirely unseen, he realised. 

The bad things that came with him had made a home at Shawshank as well, burrowing inside of the minds of convicts and CO’s alike, twisting them and making them angrier and uglier than they were meant to be. He could tell this because of how the man became increasingly troubled. 

It had already been a bad night when the man came down, no tray in hand. Involuntarily his stomach made its own pained moan, a protest to how it was being treated, but his face did not change at all, instead continuing in his placidity. 

The man sat in his usual spot. Lit a cigarette and smoked it until it's short, then threw it in the bin beside him. Neither of them spoke. 

“My men beat an inmate within an inch of his life today,” he began, eyes searching. He gave the man nothing, instead continuing to stare at the area right before the man's face began. “And I know, my prison isn't perfect. Far from it. But - _look at me boy_ -” 

And he did as soon as the request is made, eyes up and staring into two hot coals that would love to do nothing more than hurt him, wouldn't they? 

“My prison isn't like this. It's you, isn't it? Your sick has gotten into here, even after I made sure to put you so far away.” 

He shrugged. Probably, but what was he supposed to do about it? He had tried to explain in the beginning that he couldn't help it, that he couldn't shut off the things that he did. But the Devil is a Master of Lies and he could probably trick himself too, who knows. 

“I doubt myself. I doubt the word of my Lord, and it is you who makes this doubt present.”

“Okay.” he hadn't spoken in so long that the word comes out lopsided, too loud on one end and too soft on the other. He didn't know what else to say. 

“Okay.” Any other day he would assume that the man was mocking him, but today it felt resigned. He was agreeing with him, with his silent words of apathy and blame. 

“Okay.” he repeated again, quietly to himself as the man left. 

Okay. 

~~~

Why had it taken him this long to realize that he was wearing a prisoners uniform? 

It made him sick, in a sense to be wearing it. 

He wasn't a prisoner. He was kidnapped. What had he done? What could the man prove that he had done? 

( _Just because there is no proof doesn't mean you didn't do it boy, you really want to argue that none of what had happened in this town was your fault? You want to argue that God didn't reveal your crimes to the man? If you do you're as dumb as you look_ ) 

He didn't deserve to be in the cage. He didn't deserve to be in a hole in the ground for so long that even the light of the man's lantern stung his eyes, that the bread was all he could keep down. 

( _He said that but his mind sang that he knew the truth and all that shit that no one else was getting hurt but criminals since the man came and took him, so he DID deserve it for all the families he broke and tore apart and ruined_ ) 

He didn't deserve it. 

~~~ 

If he strained hard enough it seemed like a memory was almost there in the back of his mind, some hazy thought of what had come before - even before the cage and how he had somehow gotten there, before when he was small, small enough to 

( _be grabbed by a man who was definitely not his father but smiled the same way and examined him, a man that the others were afraid of but why would they be? He was so nice - Daddy don't hurt him!)_

have fit through the bars around him. He wished again that he wasn't so tall. If he was shorter, he might have been able to fit through the large gaps. 

It's almost humiliating, to be so tall that the wide gaps that he is certain others could crawl through reject him. He knew they did. 

He had tried. 

~~~

Time passed. The man grew older, hair thinning and turning white. His face grew more lined, more weary. His body, once strong enough to snap his wrist and heave him into the trunk 

( _Or perhaps he let that happen perhaps God shew him the way too, what do you think of that? God told him in his steady voice that he would harm no longer and he accepted his new fate maybe he heard it too do you hear it? It's like a ringing in your ears, isn't it?_ ) 

grew soft and fat. 

But he didn't age. Truth be told he didn't know what he looked like, didn't know what features filled his face or what his whole frame looked like together but he knew a decent number of years had passed and yet no lines creased his hands. His face felt the same as his first night while he screamed, felt the same as his second night while he weeped, felt the same as the night he had finally trained it to be blank. 

They didn't speak, but it wasn't a bad night so he crept as close as he could to the light, his face leaned against the bars, one hand encircling it. His eyes trained on the man's cigarette even as he could feel his eyes on him, wary but not frightened.

He stood up suddenly as the cigarette went out. 

“When they find you,” he said, his first words of the evening, “ask for Henry Deaver.” 

He nodded, not sure what the man means. The man stared into his eyes for a moment before getting up and grabbing his lantern, making his way to the ladder. 

He turned around. Stopped and stared at him once again. 

“Henry Matthew Deaver.” he said every word as if it were its own sentence, not a name all together. He didn't nod again, instead staring back at the man. He didn't understand. 

The man gave a short sigh, and then began to climb, opening the hatch and then leaving him back in the darkness. 

On the second day alone in darkness, he understood. 

~~~

He had never been left alone this long. He tried to trick himself into thinking that the man was just busy 

( _he had been able to guess that the man was the warden and they were in a prison - he says guess but really something inside of him can just tell and he's not wrong either, he knows that much_ ) 

with work, but he knew the truth. It was as if when the man's head had flown off he had been there in the car with him, impassive as they dived off of the cliff. 

He wasn't impassive anymore. He wanted out. 

_When they find you -_

Dear God. When they find him. How long would that take? It could take weeks, months, years. He knew he was in a hole so deep that there could be almost no way of stumbling onto it. _Please hurry,_ he thought as he sat in his cage. _Whoever you are._

He would have thought he knew better than begging. 

~~~

He really hoped he was the Devil like he had been told so many times, because if he was anything else this punishment was not justified. The way his already weak frame shrank and ate itself would have horrified any other man but instead he sat in his cage and awaited to be found. He trusted the words of the man. 

He trusted the words of the Lord he spoke through him. 

~~~

_When they find you -_

“And even at that hour of the night,” 

_Ask for Henry -_

“The jailer took them and washed their wounds,” 

_Henry Deaver -_

“And without delay,” 

_Henry -_

“He and all his household,” 

_Matthew -_

“Were baptized.” 

_Deaver._

Some part of him knew that it was ridiculous to quote the scriptures out loud, some vain attempt to be heard or draw the man back to him, but another part of him continued to force his cracked and bleeding lips to sound out the words of his favorite verse. 

_Please, Lord, allow me to be saved soon._

~~~ 

He was flying - 

~~~

_“ -hy are you wearing those?” He asks the man and he is so small, small enough that the man is kneeling in front of him, smile broad on his face._

__

__

_They both glance down at the mans cuffed hands and he smirks at him again, not unkindly. He jingles them a bit and he giggles at the noise, so different from anything he had ever heard._

_“Because I choose to.” he smiles again and jerks the hands again._

~~~

He was angry now, angry enough to scream again even as he was curled over with hunger and thirst in his cage. 

He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve the cage around him and when he got out 

( _If, a small part of his mind shouted but it was panicked because yeah, IF? What if he was stuck in this godforsaken fucking cage in a hole for eternity?_ ) 

there would be hell to pay. He wants to hurt the man who kidnapped him and the man who left him in the trunk and whoever is supposed to find him for taking so long. He wants to burn this town to the ground for what it has done to him. 

But for the moment, he was stuck with the wordless howl that he threw out of his body. 

~~~

 _He calls the man he sees in his mind three steps man but he doesn't know why, just wishes he could once again step forward and pet the doggy and sleep forever it would be much better than the starvation and darkness and thirst please -_

~~~

His face was scratchy. Itchy, coarse to the touch. So was his throat. 

~~~

Why didn't he save him, the man who opened the trunk, did he not see a boy, a child when he did so or did he see with the same eyes of the man and see a Devil but why hadn't he helped him? Why did he leave him in the trunk?

~~~

He had resigned himself to spend eternity in his cell the day he was saved. 

He only had time to shuffle as well as he could away from the bars when he heard the sound of the opening being twisted, lifted up and then a pause. 

_Someonesomeonesomeonewhoisitcomedown_

He didn't say anything though. Didn't say anything when a man, much younger than the other one shimmied down the ladder, one hand on a flashlight and the other on his waist.

He didn't say anything as to not startle the man as he shined his light around and rested it on the lights, on the metal chair and carton of cigarettes. He did shuffle back from it though as it barely grazed him. 

The light stopped. The young man was breathing so hard he could hear him, could almost feel the way his heart must have been pounding. The light moved again, slowly, cautiously. 

It came closer, stopped for another moment and then approached. 

The light flashed over to him but still he didn't speak, even as it jittered away and the young man screamed “OH FUCK!”, even as he climbed out of the hole and away from his cage. Because he had been found, just as promised. 

_The Lord shew me the way_ , he thought and stood, listening to the thundering footsteps above him and the shouts for help. _He shew me the way and struck down the cage around me._

He was free.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kid finds himself out of the cage for the first time in twenty seven years, but has doubts that he should have been let out in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe it's episode 8 tonight!! Can't wait to see who the painter is, the convo between the kid and Henry...so much is gonna go down. 
> 
> Sorry this is shit, I have abandoned my theory on who the kid could be so I didn't add much of that.
> 
> I know its probably confusing how much he already seems to trust Dennis but I promise I got a plan for that. Also I know he goes back and forth between being mad about being in the cage and feeling like he deserved it but I mean he sort of shows that in the actual show too at least it seems like to me.

He sat down in the darkness for awhile more it seemed, so long that the thud of his heart rang in his ears and his breath hitched at the thought that the young man might have decided not to tell anyone, that they would come back but instead of leading him out they would close the hole in the ceiling and run away.

( _He could feel his breathing hitch even more at that thought, at how he could be so close to freedom but have it be snatched away by someone else and if he could cry he would but he was so drained_ )

The footsteps returned, heavy on the ground and faster than normal. Towards him.

He couldn't breathe it felt like, gulping for air so fast that none of it would go down and help his lungs and heart, because the footsteps were coming closer, and they would shut the door and leave him in the dark.

There was at least another person with the young man who had found him. Maybe more.

( _Maybe to gawk at him and then just leave him to rot in the darkness, their little secret because they would be able to tell just why he was locked up in the cage and know he shouldn't be released_ )

“He's down there, he's down there, holy fuck! There's a cage down there and someone's in it, dude!” The voice was extremely close now, as if they were standing right above the ladder.

“Calm down, I'm sure you just fucking spooked yourself,” another voice said as they were coming down the ladder, but he didn't speak. He didn't know if he had the strength to.

They were down there with him in a flash it felt like, but - but he was still in the cage, his heart feeling like it was going to explode out of his chest.

A flashlight clicked on.

“See, there's nothing down here, you big fuckin’ pans - OH FUCK!”

~~~

He felt like time had suddenly skipped forward because all of the sudden the cage door was off and there were more guards and so much commotion, but he remained kneeling on the floor of the cage.

“Everyone give him some space!” someone shouted, and the noise settled to a dull roar. He remained kneeling on the ground, eyes focused on the pair of boots approaching him.

“Can you hear me?” they asked, voice gentle. He realized it was the young man who had found him, yet he still flinched back instinctively. His eyes flicked up to features he could barely make out in the darkness.

“It's okay, it's okay,” The young man said, so gentle that he felt like a child. "No one's gonna hurt you."

( _His tone sounded fatherly to him, wanting to help a scared child and maybe that's what he was, a scared and helpless child_ )

“Can you walk?” The young man drew closer as he asked, almost stepping inside of the cage. He got up immediately and took a step back, not to answer his question, but because this had never happened. No one had ever gotten so close and personal in twenty seven years, maybe more?

“Okay, okay, that's good,” he mumbled and took another step forward,

( _Too close too close, much to close, but he wouldn't show how much it scared him even if he towered over the young man because in his mind he didn't see that he saw an old man asking him what he was and he had no answer that would explain_ )

and then he was inside the cage. In _his_ cage. He needed him out. Out of his space, out of his cage, out of this hole, just out. All of the sudden this rescue wasn't seeming like such a good idea.

“Come on out, buddy, there's nothing to be scared of.”

( _He wanted to laugh at the sentence because there was an enormous amount to be afraid of and this seemed like number one_ )

“I'm not gonna hurt you.”

( _Maybe he deserved to be hurt though, was this what the man wanted?_ )

Subconsciously he realized he had shuffled almost all the way out of the cage, hands up against his chest, head bowed as the young man walked backwards, lulling him into a slow walk forward.

He stopped.

( _This isn't right, twenty seven years down here and now he was just being let out?_ )

“No one's gonna hurt you. You're almost there buddy, we're gonna get you out of here.”

After a tense couple of seconds he stepped out of the cage, and just like that, the world he had known for twenty seven years fell apart.

~~~

He was guided up and out of the tank, with half of the guards in front and the others behind him on the ladder in case he fell or needed helo, walking through a broken and dusty jail block with its rusted doors and no lighting.

( _He had been thrown in a hole so deep that it was almost impossible to have found him he realized_ )

The guards flanked him, the one who had found him right behind him. He moved in a daze, just putting one foot in front of the other.

Anything to get away from the cage.

~~~

It was _so_ bright when they entered the actual prison that instinctively he tried to shield his eyes by dropping his head and bringing a hand up, so the young man hovered a hand behind him and murmured that they were _almost there, just a bit longer, you can do it buddy_ , but it was so bright and loud that he didn't respond, only let the hand that was hovering at his back and the voice guide him forward.

~~~

He has a blanket around his shoulders, but he didn't know how it had gotten there. The locked room he found himself in had a sign on it that declared it the infirmary, but he didn't know what that meant. In his mind he just thought of it as The Room.

He felt dizzy but didn't show it, didn't allow the new guard in front of him to know how draining everything was, how terrifying it was.

( _He was horrified to find a piece of him that screamed to get back into the cage, that at least there he knew the routine and it was quiet and dark so he tried to drown it out but it just grew louder until it was nearly all he could think about_ )

“I need a name, son.”

He hadn't realized just how filthy his hands and feet were, but in the harsh fluorescent light he could make out the grime on them.

“Who are you?”

( _What are you, the man screamed but he didn't know so instead he just wordlessly screamed back_ -)

“What's your name, hmm?”

He wish he knew the answer to that question, but the man had long ago taken that from him. He wasn't worthy of such a descriptor.

“We've got no records of you here.”

Movement behind the door in front of him caught his eye, so he turned his attention from nothing to outside of it. He caught the form, making out the shape and then features of a person. They locked eyes, for only a moment.

“C’mon, what's your name?”

Oh. It was the same guard from before. He could see just how short he was now, far shorter than himself. And he had red hair - it was almost a shock for him because when had he ever seem that color hair? It had never even crossed his mind that the orange coppery hue was possible. He looked sad - or more upset. He placed a hand over his mouth and wiped down before breaking the eye contact.

( _He almost wanted to believe that the guard was upset for him, for what had been done to him but he wasn't that dumb, he knew the guard was more upset for himself most likely, having to witness him and getting even less sleep than usual with a baby on the way -_ )

He didn't know how he knew about the baby. But he did, and he knew that it would be a boy and that the guard would love him fiercely, fierce enough to quit his job and move his family out of Castle Rock - only to end up in Derry, where worse things waited.

“How'd you get inside this prison?”

( _Kidnapped, he wanted to say but was it really kidnapping if it was for a good cause? If God himself had told the man to do just that?_ )

“Cat got your tongue?” the guard asked abruptly, making him move his gaze from the door to in front of him again. The guard bent down, just enough for their own eyes to catch, just a glimpse -

( _And he knew the man's life now, he didn't know how but he saw his wife who died a few years ago and his children and one grandchild, they didn't like his new girlfriend and secretly neither did he, they would break up soon -_ )

“Who put you down that hole? You can tell me.”

He could, but he didn't want to. So instead he moved his head to the side, neck almost locking up as he turned to make sure he could no longer see even a glimpse of the man.

( _He wondered why he could suddenly see this now because the only other time he ever had was with that man who opened the trunk on him, he was the sheriff he knew who loved a woman he felt he could never truly have - but never the man's life, he was blank_ -)

“Nothing, huh? Alright.”

He didn't want to know anymore about his life, or anyone else's.

~~~

They wanted him to put his fingers on something. The guard shuffled him over to it and turned it on, sounds starting up that he couldn't identify and then he was nodded at to go ahead.

He put his hand out, cautiously. It shook harshly at the movement. He could tell the guard was looking at him, but ignored it.

He put his fingers down.

A loud _thrinnnn!_ sounded and the surface his fingers were on lit up, so he snatched them back as fast he could.

( _For all he knew they could be trying to hurt him - well, he knew they weren't, would know when they were he was sure but he still would be as cautious as he could_ )

He caught the guard's eyes, seeing the pity and bewilderment in them. Something like shame squeezed in his chest but he forced it away, instead simply lowering his eyes away from the man.

~~~

The guard had asked him to take off his clothes, giving him a moment of hesitation when he did. He had only ever changed by himself in the darkness of his cell, fumbling with the new change of clothing

( _He didn't remember it but when he was far younger he had such a hard time finding the right way to put his shirt on that his mother would help the little boy, laughing as he exclaimed about the itchy tags and praising him whenever he got it on by himself, even if it was backwards -_ )

but never in front of anyone else. Not in twenty seven years, ever since the man had given him a change of clothes and told him to take off his pajamas when he left. He never got them back, either.

He stripped as soon as they asked him a second time though, then with softer voices and promises that he wouldn't be hurt.

He knew they weren't going to hurt him, at least not right at that moment. If they were going to, he would have known.

( _And stopped them because that was something he knew he could do now, he felt it in every part of him but he didn't try because that was the bad part of him, that was why he had been locked up, he got it now, oh boy he did_!)

He got a towel for his troubles though and held it awkwardly to his chest, not sure what exactly they wanted from him.

The guard from before ( _The savior, the red hair short young man with a baby on the way and a job he hated, that's who_ ) stepped into the room after he had done so and did a double take, exchanging a look with the other new man who had taken his fingerprint.

( _He knew that look, the one the Warden gave him when he was silent and sick with fear, a look of quiet disbelief at what they were all seeing and he didn't know how to make it go away so he remained silent and sick with fear and a towel clutched to his chest_ )

“Buddy, wrap it around your waist,” the young man said, snapping him out of the part of him still stuck in the cage. He gestured to the towel and then his lower half so he did so slowly, eyes watching the young guard for approval as he did so. When the young guard softened and nodded at him he stopped, letting the towel hang around his hips.

“Okay, I'll take him to get cleaned up, then bring him back after,” he said, then directing his words at the other guard, who merely nodded in agreement.

“Follow me buddy.” And now the words were directed at him so he took a cautious step forward, following the young guard out of the room and back into the hallways he had been bustled through.

Back towards the cage.

~~~

The young guard wasn't as nice when he guided him somewhere deeper in the prison

( _Towards the cage, he thought again and almost wanted to make a run for it but he also forced himself to remember the voice asking him if he could stand and the hand at his back trying to guide him and shield him, so he continued to walk forward_ )

but it didn't seem like it was on purpose. It was like he had to force himself to be tougher, to be someone else out in front of the prisoners and other guards, that now he was not the same young man who saved him from the cage - now he was just a faceless, nameless member of the violent forces that ran Shawshank rampant.

They walked until they were in a tiny alcove with a high wall but no ceiling - above them a bit ahead were rows and rows of

( _Cages_ )

prison cells, with the criminals inside jeering and howling. It made him almost dizzy with noise and confusion at how much was happening all at once.

“Hey,” the young guard said and waved his hand in front of him, then pointed in front. He turned to face that way and couldn't comprehend what he was looking at because

( _Because he had been in a fucking CAGE for twenty seven years and there had never been a luxury like standing without ducking, much less whatever this was_ )

his mind was already going into overdrive just trying to understand everything that had happened so far.

The young man took the towel wrapped around his waist for him, gently tugging on it until it came loose and then he was naked, out in this open space with so many caged men who could maybe see him, he was pretty tall after all. The young man didn't look at any other part of him but his face, but he himself couldn't bear to look at him so instead he stared at the thing in front of him.

It was metal, clean shiny metal with a weird knob and part of it extended out, so small that he couldn't tell what its purpose was. It had little holes in it, as if something came out.

( _He had never ever taken a shower before, because as a boy he took baths in the supervision of a parent or sometimes both and then later in life he knew other, much faster ways of getting clean that didn't require a shower but it didn't really matter because he didn't remember any of it_ )

“It's a shower,” the young guard said, something close to exasperation in his voice but more sad. The word meant nothing to him though, merely a descriptor to whatever was in front of him. The young guard's eyebrows furrowed at his blank look.

“To - to clean? Water?” he added, but it still meant nothing to him. The young guard hesitated then reached forward, turning the knob to the shower for him when it became apparent he wasn't going to.

Something came out, water right at him -

( _It scared him with its suddenness, the same way that the cold did when he was thrown to the snowy ground by the man and tied up, the same way the first time he screamed at him scared him)_

he couldn't breathe. It was trapped in his throat so he looked away quickly, feeling every part of his body start to shake or move in tune with his fear, but at least his breath was coming out then.

( _“He shew me the way you son-of-a-bitch!”)_

“It's okay,” the young guard said and put his hands out, almost as if to reach out and guide him but hesitated and put them back quickly. He could feel his stomach moving, quick and paced the same way his throat moved, the same way his head shaked to some rhythm inside of him that would not cease.

“It's okay,” he repeated and reached back up, he could see it out of the corner of his eye, back up and adjusted the knob one way.

He didn't say anything back because he was sure the young guard wouldn't understand if he tried to explain that it wasn't the shower itself that scared him, it was the suddenness and the surprise.

Instead he took a tiny step forward, even as his body continued to hyperventilate and let the water hit his stomach.

~~~

His face had been shaved, and he had a hospital gown on. It itched his thighs something terrible, the mere different texture being enough to irritate the skin.

( _Guess spending twenty seven years in the same revolving two sets of clothes in a filthy cage really did a number on him, huh?_ )

But he didn't focus on it, being too busy on focusing on the comb and fingers prodding through his hair. He didn't know what they were hoping to find but the man who was doing it never indicated whether he was happy about what he saw one way or another, just quietly continued to comb.

The young guard and another watched through the glass until they turned to each other to speak. He could hear them talking behind the door, mumbles about him that he wasn't supposed to hear.

“Okay, one old perv, in charge of a prison plus one fuckslave in an oil tank, minus one head. How's my math?”

( _He didn't know exactly what the word fuckslave meant but it felt dirty, and it made him feel dirty to be described that way because they didn't know that he was caged because he was evil, God shew the man the way and it wasn't to a fuckslave for sure_ )

The young man didn't respond though, so he bowed his head and tried to focus on the insistent fingers on his scalp.

~~~

His heart was beating wildly, but he remained still on the table. Allowed the new man to squint at him and pull his eyelid back, didn't flinch or squint back or even tense when he released the eye droplet into it, only blinked once it was in.

He could tell the young guard was watching from the doorway.

~~~

He had gotten new clothes again. Inmates uniform, again. If he had much less pressing matters and much more confidence he might had tried to ask for different clothing, but instead he stayed silent. For the moment, he was merely grateful for the reprieve from the whirlwind he had just been through.

How long had it been since he had been in the cage? It felt like a lifetime ago but also just a few minutes - his reasoning of time had all but been destroyed in the cage, all twenty seven years blending together so to have it straightened out all of the sudden left him dizzy and shaken.

The door opened to his room, so quiet that he was sure the average person would not have noticed.

( _Good thing he wasn't the average person, right?_ )

But he did, so he swung his eyes to the front of the room as quick as he could, chest tightening at the thought of who it could be. His eyes traveled up, until he could see who it was.

It was the same guard again, the one who had been with him all day it seemed - the one who had found him, the one who had taken him to the showers, had watched him get eye drops and had watched his hair get combed.

( _He wondered if they were connected now in some way, as if the minute the young man had climbed down into the tank and shined the light onto him something had attached to both of them and drew them together or maybe it was just pity for the poor fucking guy who had been in a cage for who knew how long_ )

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” he said, and the words sounded so strangely polite and casual to him that he couldn't help but crease his brows and tilt his head up in surprise.

“I just, I didn't think it was good to just leave you. To your thoughts, and all that stuff,” he took another step forward but no more, remaining in front of him with both hands balled up at his sides.

He was incredibly nervous, he could tell. But the young man had been nice and helped him out of the cage, had been kind and patient for as long as they knew each other so he didn't feel nervous himself. He knew the young man did not want to hurt him.

“My name is Dennis. Dennis Zalewski,” he said. “But you can call me whatever.” Dennis had a strange smile, one that was so nervous that he almost felt like he had forced the correctional officer into it

( _But he couldn't force anything that was his main defense, wasn't it, that nothing that happened wasn't his fault and he won't take any blame for it he did his time, stop PUNISHING ME_ )

but at the same time so genuine that he almost believed that from then on he would be able to tell apart Dennis’s fake smiles and his real smiles.

He wiped his mouth again, as he had seen the young man do before. It was almost like a self-soothing touch for Dennis, the same way he used to allow himself to self-soothe in the early years of the cage

( _He would run a hand over his cheek with the back of it, just to feel the texture change and it made him feel better to know he was there, made him feel calmer but then the man did the same thing once and all of the sudden the next time he tried to self-soothe he wanted to vomit at the feeling_ -)

until he had forced it out of his system.

“I just want you to know that I'm - I'm on your side, no matter what the new warden wants to do.”

( _Wait what, what do they want to do, perhaps they hear the voice of God too, maybe this was just a cruel step in his punishment, show him what he could have and then take it away_ -)

He tensed at the words, enough that Dennis noticed and backtracked immediately.

“Hey, hey, don't worry. She's not gonna do anything like what happened to you, I promise,” he said, face dropping with worry. He didn't respond, just let some of the tension out of his body.

He knew that Dennis was telling the truth - at least his version of the truth. He believed what he was saying, but really it meant nothing.

The warden could try and do whatever she wanted to do with him, and even though he was sure he could fight back even harder this time, and actually win, he wasn't sure he would be able to.

Because at least some part of himself deserved to be in that cage.

~~~

Dennis had left quickly after that, again promising that nothing bad would happen to him, so he let the rest of the tension leave his body if only to reassure the young guard that he was okay.

He only had what seemed like a few more moments of respite ( _it was half an hour in reality he knew_ ) before everything started up again, this time with the warden herself.

He could tell it was her before she was even in the hallway, could tell by the way the guard in front of the door ( _the one that had called him a fuckslave, that one_ ) stood up straighter and stopped fidgeting. He trained his eyes on the floor and listened as the two sets of footsteps grew louder and then they were right there, the door was opening and they walked in.

( _He heard Dennis hurry up too and stand by the door, could feel his presence in some way and was perplexed at how it managed to soothe some of the storm that was roiling inside of him)_

He looked up, to see the warden with her severe wardrobe and even more severe face, and the intimidating man that stood by her side. He looked them in the eyes quickly before gazing back at the floor, and he saw.

The man and the new warden - they were not good.

( _But then again was he good? He didn't deserve to be treated kindly, so of course he felt like they weren't good they were just treating him the way he was supposed to be - but then what about Dennis and his real smiles and baby on the way surely he meant something?)_

He had looked at them and knew that they had done bad things before, mostly the man. He had hurt people, for little to no reason. He enjoyed it.

( _Where was his punishment? Where was his twenty seven years in a fucking cage?)_

“Young man, who are you?” the warden asked, skipping any pleasantries or soft words that the guards had tried. He shifted slightly on the table but didn't respond to the question. He didn't have an answer that he thought would satisfy.

“What's your name?” Again, he didn't have an answer so he didn't speak.

“Can he hear me, have we checked out his ears?” he didn't like the way she talked about him like he wasn't there, the same way he didn't like being called a fuckslave when he was just behind a door.

“Are we playing some type of fuckin’ charades here because -”

He said the words he was meant to repeat quietly, if only to get the woman to stop talking that way.

( _He didn't like it when the man yelled and shook the cage it made him feel like he was going to scream along with him)_

She stopped, as soon as she realized he was attempting to say something. His voice felt heavy in his throat, as if it were something that could become rusty without use. It was, actually, because all he had been doing in the past twenty seven years was whispering short sentences or screaming.

Everyone shifted forward as he attempted again, the warden, the bad man, the guard and Dennis all taking a collective step forward to listen to him.

“Henry Deaver,” he said, hoping the name made sense to someone who could hear because it didn't to him. He was merely doing what the man had told him to do.

( _He wanted to scream at himself and ask why he was following the orders of that man but he also knew he couldn't not be obedient so he merely begged his own mind to stop fighting itself)_

“Okay,” the warden said, word laced with confusion. So she didn't know either it seemed.

“That's not Henry Deaver,” he heard the guard mumble to Dennis, both of the correctional guards turning their backs to him.

“Who the fuck’s Henry Deaver?”

He saw the guard's head shake, saw his shoulders go up and down. “It's a long story,” he said.

The warden tried to catch his gaze but he forced it even lower into the floor, mind straining to remember the middle name.

“Henry…” his mouth stumbled over the middle name, unsure of itself for a moment before getting it out. “M-Matthew Deaver.”

He gazed up, past the warden and to the murky figure of Dennis.

~~~

They hadn't done much after he had given his message, only awkwardly left and locked the door behind them,

( _Putting him back in a cage in a way huh, just this one was more spacious but he couldn't get out so what did that make The Room?)_

making sure he couldn't get out.

The parallel he drew was slowly creeping in on him, along with the rest of his incredibly stressful day. It made his heart feel jumpy and his throat tight, made his limbs shaky like when he had been surprised by the water.

He didn't know what was happening to him but he knew it wasn't good so he slunk to a corner in the room and sat down there, trying to assuage himself by wrapping his shaking arms around his knees.

It didn't work. His limbs kept shaking and now it felt like before, when he wasn't sure if Dennis was going to come back and let him out, how his throat had tightened to the point that he wasn't sure if he could breathe or not.

He hadn't cried under such new conditions that it hurt when his eyes involuntarily watered. His chest tightened to the point that he wanted to panic but he couldn't show it because what if the man got angry at him -

( _The man is dead he told himself he had felt it in his very being but it didn't stop the way his shoulders hunched forward and he tilted his head down, the way he pushed his back into the wall behind him until it felt like it would bruise his spine because WHAT IF he's alive and angry?!)_

his stomach jumped at the idea, enough for him to dry heave once, as quiet as he could so no one would notice. He didn't want anyone to notice how utterly small he felt.

He could hear voices outside of the door but tuned them out so he could focus on the way tears trickled down his face slowly, not enough so that it could be considered sobbing or weeping but enough that someone could take notice.

“He's freaking out man, I'm not gonna just leave him like that!”

( _dennisdennisdennis zalewski but-you-can-call-me-anything and his orange hair and baby on the way and his self-soothe, he brushed the back of his cheek with his hand and vomited -)_

“Well what do you want to do, go in there and scare him some more? He's fine. Leave it alone, Zalewski.”

( _Leave him alone in the cage, in his mind, leave him alone with the man, NO wait don't don't don't dontdontdont Dennis help)_

“He’s not fine. I have to at least make sure he doesn't need anything dude, now get out of the way.”

“Fine, whatever. Jesus man, he's not your kid or something.”

“Fuck off. You have no idea what they wanna do to him.”

( _He had an idea what they wanted but at the moment it wasn't his main concern so he didn't think about it too hard just let it simmer in the back of his mind)_

The door opened then but he didn't look up at it, just continued to stare at the floor for as long as he could.

“Hey buddy.”

He hoped that Dennis didn't expect him to respond just because he had spoken before. Instead he brought a hand up to his face and wiped the water away from it.

“You're all stressed out, huh? That's normal, don't worry about it. Anyone would be.” The young man was close now but didn't take anymore steps towards him. Still, he shrank back, almost feeling as if his space was being violated.

_(He knew it was crazy to think that because he knew that Dennis wasn't there to hurt him or insult him or taunt him he was there to help him but still the scary feelings would not go away)_

“I'm not gonna hurt you,” Dennis said. He sat down right there, across from him. He was close but not too close, close enough so that he could reach out and touch his leg but so that he could be ready if Dennis got up too suddenly for his taste.

( _He was close enough to be in the cage with him, he realized and that felt good because everyone stayed so far away that they had put a different sort of cage around him, not a physical one but he knew it was there)_

“I know,” he said back, his first words out of the cage that were truly his own, and Dennis almost looked shocked at them but the expression quickly fell away into another nervous grin.

“I know that - I mean, I don't know but I can imagine that this is all scary,” Dennis said and he scooted closer, enough so that he scooted back himself only to find that there was nothing but wall behind him. Dennis put his hands up in reassurance, shuffling back an inch.

“Sorry, shouldn't have snuck up on you. I just want you to know I'm on your side right?” Dennis looked right at him, actually looking as if he didn't see whatever everyone else saw

( _Some people saw a monster and caged it and others believed the ones who did and let them drive off with a bound boy in the back of their town cars and others saw a problem for a private prison, but one person saw him as a kid because that's what he was he wasn't just any kid he was The Kid, all capitalized and shit_ )

but as if he was truly seeing him. It made him almost uncomfortable, the level of intimacy it gave Dennis. He didn't just see the image that others did, he saw the bones and blood and brain of him.

He nodded once, slowly. Dennis searched his eyes and frowned, wiped his mouth once again at whatever he saw.

“You need anything? You looked really…” he trailed off for a moment as if he were imagining something but he didn't need to look long because that had happened mere moments ago.

“Really upset, I guess. Just tell me if you do.” and his eyes were back on him, dark and watery and not at all suited for the job of correctional officer.

( _Too bad there wasn't any other jobs, he thought bitterly because anything would be better for Dennis than this, except that move to Derry he might make if he didn't step in and shake things up)_

“Henry,” he said, because it was what the man told him he needed. He didn't yet know what he himself wanted, but he believed in the Warden and whatever he knew.

_(His mind felt like such a confusing jumble, it kept yoyo-ing between being extremely upset with what had happened to him to extremely upset he was released to just extremely upset so he decided to trust what the warden had told him and stick with it instead of the chaos he felt when he tried to figure out what HE might want)_

Dennis frowned again.

“Why? I mean, you don't gotta tell me if you don't wanna, I'm just wondering.”

He couldn't say. Dennis didn't seem like the type to have a strong loyalty to the Warden, so he couldn't be trusted to follow through if he was told the truth.

( _He wondered for a second just how much of his life the late Warden would continue to own and cage but told himself to stop thinking ridiculous thoughts because it was only right, and he had promised himself to stop yoyo-ing so stop it right NOW_ )

“I don't know,” he lied. Dennis didn't look convinced, just continued to frown at him with a far away look. He would be wary to do it, not unless he took drastic measures and showed the young man just how much he needed this.

He shuffled forward. Placed one shaking hand on Dennis’s knee, so light that he could barely feel the fabric.

( _He could tell that the young man's hand was hovering behind him as it guided so he let it press into his back and guide wherever because at that point who else would he trust?_ )

Dennis tensed, as subtly as he could as if he was trying to not let the movement discourage him. He kept his hand there, shaking but confident in his own way.

( _He would get what he wanted by any means necessary but it would feel so much better if Dennis just agreed on his own free will wouldn't it?)_

“Please,” he said.

And he knew it would be done by the time he removed his hands and looked at the young man's face because he knew he was thinking about the cage and how long he had been in there and whatever he knew about the new warden might want to do with him and all the little signs that showed the correctional officer just how much the little kindness - no, the _decency_ \- would mean to him.

Dennis nodded.

~~~

He knew if he wanted to he could focus and listen to what Dennis was saying to Henry

( _He must have found a way to contact him somehow, although it wouldn't have been crazy for him to think that the new warden and the man might have researched just who exactly he asked for)_

but he found himself tired and worn out from his day. Instead he focused on the floor in front of him. Dennis looked back at him occasionally and frowned as he continued to talk.

“Look, I shouldn't even be calling you but - _listen, listen_ \- they found a kid in a cage.” Dennis’s voice grew louder and more pleading and he turned around again, glancing at him.

“No one else is gonna help him,” he said and then after a brief pause, “Shawshank State Prison.”

There was another pause, where he assumed Henry was saying something back.

Dennis hung up the phone suddenly ( _loud enough that he almost wanted to flinch but didn't allow it to happen)_ and rubbed his mouth again, just like before. He looked worried.

He mimicked the gesture, bringing his bony hand up to his mouth and brushing against it, just enough to feel the pressure but not enough to feel like he was forcing himself to be silent. Just the feeling of his own palm, reassuring in the same way the back of his hand used to be against his cheek.

He was surprised at how nice it felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-soothe is my new favorite word also buddy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kid starts to realize his powers aren't entirely in his control. Neither are his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno a whole lot about sleep deprivation I just needed an explanation as to why he slept and then a reason for why he would then refuse to sleep later on so sorry about the bs in the beginning. Also I've done italics like 3 times I'm so mad!! well anyways this is shit, I've wrote like 70% of this just in the last 3 hours so I'm sorry about that :/ 
> 
> Also everyone go read Tidbit its the cutest thing ever but not too cute yeah its just the perfect mix of cute and angst! It is also a Castle Rock fic :)

“He should try to sleep, even just for a bit,” the new man said.

They had brought him in after the phone call Dennis made, another man to examine him and make some sort of judgement on him and then perhaps make him do something. The one man had put eye drops in his eyes, another had weighed and measured him.

This man seemed to be trying to tell just how exhausted he was.

( _Bone deep, he wanted to say but he knew the only person he would ever actually say that to was Dennis_ )

When he was done with his examination he had turned to Dennis and the other guard who had joined shortly after and began to explain himself, and what steps could be taken to fix him.

Some part of him felt annoyed at the way he was ignored, even though it was him who they were talking about. No comments or questions were ever pointed towards him. Not that he would answer them though.

“Why?” Dennis asked, even though they all could guess why. “Is he gonna pass out if he doesn't? Or is it to like, let his body heal?”

“He's suffering from sleep deprivation, from what I can tell. His hands have been shaking continuously, his corneal reflexes are sluggish and his eyes are incredibly bloodshot. He's having eye spasms, too - watch, see it?”

All of them turned to him suddenly and he wanted to flinch at the sudden attention but forced himself not to. They watched as he felt his eye twitch, and then while he blinked it away. It would have freaked him out more

( _And it did, he could tell by the way his heart felt like it was strained, the way he felt his skin beg to flinch but he forced the sensation away_ )

if he hadn't distracted himself with the way Dennis’s hair looked. It was so strange, the coppery color. He had never seen anything like it before

( _Not that he had a chance to, and even if he had as a child he didn't remember_ )

or had seen on anyone else. It must be rare then, the way it looked. His eye twitched again as they focused on it.

“He could just be hungry, though,” the other guard said. “Dude hasn't eaten anything but fuckin’ bread so far.” He saw Dennis frown at the guard’s profanity, a scene that almost made his own mouth quirk up.

( _It was funny, the way Dennis acted like he hadn't ever heard such words because oh boy, he definitely had! He heard much worse too, had been called much worse_ )

“He could be,” the doctor said. “But that doesn't explain his eyes. I suggest he at least tries to sleep, even an hour if that's all he can manage.”

“Well, why don't you ask him to?” Dennis said. The doctor turned to him looking almost surprised, as if he didn't expect to have to talk to him directly. Maybe he thought he wouldn't understand, that his twenty seven years of torture had melted his mind.

( _When he was in the cage it felt that way, as if time was jumping all over the place, as if he couldn't separate his fuzzy recollections with his current predicament_ )

“Young man, you need some sleep,” he said, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “The infirmary - where you've been staying - they have beds for you to sleep.”

He shook his head no.

They all seemed surprised, but not completely shocked. Dennis looked disappointed, as if he expected more.

( _He shouldn't expect anything from someone like him, he should know that evil will only disappoint and scare and anger, he shouldn't expect anything good from something as vile as him_ )

“You’re damaging your body, young man.” the doctor said, before seeming to give up on him after all he received was a blank stare. “You two might wanna talk to your boss about a sleeping aid for him if he refuses.”

( _His heart seemed to throw itself up at the mention of a sleeping aid because he knew what that meant it meant drugs and he could remember in the early days of the cage when he would scream for hours and then only to be drugged against his will to make him stop, to wake up scared and fighting his own body into allowing himself up_ )

He was sure he had tensed up dramatically, because Dennis shook his head no as soon as the doctor finished talking.

“That's not a good idea. We don't know what happened to him, it could trigger like a panic attack or something.” he said. The doctor shrugged, looking frustrated at all of them.

“Then I'm afraid that there's nothing else that I can recommend. He needs to sleep and he'll get it one way or another, but I bet he'd rather not pass out.”

“Well, you could ask him what he wants,” Dennis said and he almost smiled at the passive-aggressive tone. It was funny, the way the young man was insisting he be included.

“He doesn't want to sleep and he doesn't want a sleeping aid. So he'll just have to wait til his body can't go on any longer and he passes out then.”

“Maybe he would try if someone was there with him,” he pressed, arms crossed at the doctor. “Maybe he just doesn't wanna be alone.”

( _And he hit the nail right on the head in some ways because he was right he didn't wanna be alone but he also didn't want just anyone to watch over him while he slept, while he was just so vulnerable_ )

“Well, then, why don't you ask him?” the doctor said, and he felt a flash of anger against the man. Why would he try and use the words against Dennis like that? He had done nothing but try to help him.

“Fine, I will,” Dennis said, more calm than what he expected. The young man turned to him, arms now uncrossed and stance less hostile. “Buddy, would you try to sleep if someone was there to watch over you?”

He shook his head yes.

~~~

He could hear Dennis and the other guard arguing outside of the infirmary ( _The Room had been changed to His Room in his mind, because he could tell he would be there for at least the next 24 hours_ ) but in hushed tones, because Dennis kept chastising the other man into lowering his volume.

“- keep it down, the kid’s already had a rough day. I'm just saying that I think we would all like it more if I was the one watching for him while he tries.”

Dennis was a good man. He would make a wonderful father to his unborn son.

( _And something in his chest like jealousy rankled at the thought of his attention turning from him which was ridiculous because who would Dennis love more, his own baby or some random man he found at his work?_ )

“Dude, listen to yourself for a fucking minute. You want to go in there and read him a bedtime story too? Wanna tuck him in? He's a grown man, and so are you. He doesn't need his daddy to watch him while he sleeps.”

Dennis was angry then because he didn't follow his own rule, his voice raising higher at the comment. He leaned forward from his position on the wall just a bit, knees hiked and arms crossed.

( _He liked it when Dennis defended him since no one ever had, he had been sent to trial on a snowy day where he had no shoes, no socks and had been sentenced right there, not even read his goddamn rights so yeah, it was nice to have the young man fight to be able to guard his door_ )

“We don't know shit of what went down in that cage man, so don't say that. You know how long he could have been in there? All I'm asking is to switch for like, two hours tops. I'm just asking to guard the door for a bit, because he's more comfortable with me.”

He watched the two figures pace around each other from the glass windows, watched them regard each other as they both took in each other's words. He didn't want the other guard

( _The one who had raised an eyebrow at him and turned his back, had said in a sarcastic voice that he was a fuckslave, the one who didn't care but then again that could be his own fault, the way his poison seeped into every single one of his waking moments_ )

to watch him while he tried to sleep. He hadn't in so long, forcing his body to power itself on nothing but stolen moments of drowsiness and stale bread. He wanted to close his eyes and drift off without the fear of being awoken by

( _The man climbing down and watching him sleep with an odd look on his face, he startled himself awake and gasped for air when he saw him -_ )

anyone trying to catch him off guard. He didn't think it was too much to ask of, to have just an hour where he could actually sleep. He knew he would only be able to if it was Dennis who was watching over his resting form.

( _Because while he would actually be guarding him from whatever might want to harm him, the rest of the guards would be making sure he stayed in the new cage, His Room, and he wouldn't sleep in a cage ever again he promised himself that_ -)

Then the door opened, and in came Dennis looking confident and even a bit smug. The way people who don't ever get what they want look when they finally do.

“I'll be with you for the next couple of hours, but then I gotta switch out,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I'll see about tonight, but I'm not sure.”

He nodded, standing up and taking a step towards the beds before turning to make sure Dennis was behind him.

“I'm right here, buddy,” he said, walking ahead of him and to the bed. “Just get on in and try your best.”

He watched as Dennis pulled the thin blanket back and studied the length of it. He was tall, he knew this for a fact from the various times he had tried to fit through the cage in the beginning of his entrapment. There was no way he would fit on the small bed without his legs hanging off.

“Yeah, you're too tall for it, aren't you?” Dennis said, seeming to realize why he was waiting. “You could like, curl up on it or if you want me to push another bed to the bottom - ”

He shook his head no at the idea. He would rather curl up on the bed so that he could hook his arms around his knees. Dennis nodded and patted the bed.

He climbed on slowly, making sure he was facing the right way before lowering himself onto it. The pillow felt weird, the way it boosted his head up while the rest of his body was one height. But it seemed customary to Dennis, so he didn't complain.

“You don't have to sleep,” Dennis said, leaning against the wall next to him. “You just gotta at least, like, pretend so that doctor douche leaves you alone.”

He stared at his hands and nodded at the words. He head Dennis sigh and move forward, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over him as if

( _As if he were a child getting tucked in, just like the other guard had said_ )

he couldn't do it for himself.

“At least close your eyes okay? Make it believable.” He did so when Dennis asked him to, listening as the young man returned to the wall.

He felt anxious for a second at the vulnerability of having his eyes closed before he heard the steady breathing next to him. Watching over him in a way. He didn't expect himself to be able to, but he found with some surprise that he was falling asleep.

He let Dennis’s breathing guide him into sleep.

~~~  
_  
It was 1991 and he was fighting for his life._

_The man had him in his grip, now much younger than he would ever see again but at that point he hadn't known just how LONG his imprisonment would be. He was straining so hard to try and free himself, twisting one way or another but it seemed whatever he did just helped the man get a better grip._

_“Stop, stop, stop, STOP!” he screamed but the man didn't listen, just continued to drag him by the wrists which he had somehow gotten behind him, barely grunting at the ways he kicked at his legs._

_His feet were so cold in the snow without anything on them, but it gave him a wild burst of energy so instead of fighting against the hold he fell away from it, surprising the man and allowing them both to fall over._

_“Lemme go!” he hadn't realised he cried the words out, but he had because even with the sudden twist the man still had his strong hold on him, still had his arms behind him and now he was tying his wrists together with rope, saying something that he could barely register._

_“God shew me the way right to you, Devil! You do this to yourself you monster, Castle Rock has suffered enough -”_

_He was so cold, the snow seeping in through his thin pajamas, freezing his skin and making it harder for him to concentrate on fighting back. He twisted his arms but only managed to hurt himself when the man jerked them back in place._

_“ - thinking that you could get away with it, thinking I wouldn't notice but I did, I did - ”_

_He lifted his head up from the snow as the man began on his feet, tying them together the same way he had done with his hands. He saw the forest that had quickly grown as he had ran away, the same one that he had entered, terrified but determined about something that he couldn't remember anymore._

_All he knew as he was getting hauled up was that he never should have came._

~~~

He awoke with no sound, no gasp, but with a jerk of his body.

“-uddy, buddy hey, you're awake!” Dennis said and knelt down. He was already as close as he could get to the bed, looking as though he had been trying to rouse him for quite some time but hadn't worked up the courage to touch him yet. “I was worried about you. It seemed like you were having a nightmare of some type?”

His words veered into a question at the end, one hand now on the bedspread and the other gripping the bed frame.

He sat up after a moment, rustling closer to the guard as he tried to catch his own breath. He hadn't had a nightmare, at least not in the dreaming sense - no, it had been much too real.

( _A memory then, of when he was first taken and it frustrated him to no end that he could now recall it with almost perfect clarity but nothing from beforehand, not even the haziness of the three step man from before_ )

“Memory,” he said simply. Dennis bit his lip, always looking surprised whenever he used his voice. It was surprising to him too in a way, the lilt to it and the cadence, the steadiness and sheer mystery of it.

“A bad one?” Dennis said, before making a face and correcting himself. “Sorry, that was dumb. Of course it was. We don't have to talk about it, we can just hang out.”

He simply nodded and closed his eyes again, not to sleep but merely because it was exhausting to look into the young man's eyes and see his life, or look into the corridor and just know what would be happening there soon.

A hand made its way to his hair and he jerked away, eyes widening and hands curling themselves into fists not for protection but so he could simply remind himself to hold still because -

No, wait. He wasn't in the cage anymore.

Dennis jerked his hand back as if he had been burned, shuffling away from the bed still on his knees.

“Sorry, sorry, _aw shit,_ I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that I just, my mom used to do that when I couldn't sleep,” he was babbling, mouth screwed down at what he had done. He raised a cautious hand to his own head and touched it now that he knew it had just been Dennis.

It hasn't been bad. He wouldn't mind if the young man touched his hair again.

“No,” he said, one hand out and gesturing him back. “It was okay.” Dennis froze and looked back at him, one hand going up to his mouth and then down.

“You sure?” he asked finally, but moved back over to the bed til he was right by the edge. “I didn't mean to scare you, sometimes I just…” he trailed off, glancing down at the bed.

( _He was thinking about his unborn son he knew, about how he would feel if something so awful happened to his own flesh and blood_ )

“You look so young sometimes.”

He nodded at the words because he knew they were true. Twenty seven years underground in a cage and he hadn't aged a single day, he would bet his life on it.

“Like a child,” Dennis said softly and his hand went back up, hesitant but not shaky. “like an innocent little child.”

He didn't say anything back, even though he knew the words were wrong. He wasn't innocent, there was no way he was. If he was innocent he wouldn't have been in the cage.

Still he didn't say anything as the young man's fingers began to card through his hair, just let himself enjoy it while it would last. Because sooner or later he knew Dennis would see him for what he truly was. What that was, even he wasn't sure.

All he knew was that it was evil.

~~~

Dennis had to leave soon after him waking, only being able to give him a quick promise that he would see him at least the next day. As soon as the young man was gone he moved from the bed to the floor, his hair still in disarray from the way he had allowed it to be combed by him.

There wasn't much to do while he waited for

( _Henry to get through the new warden and find him but he didn't know what would happen or more so what should happen after that, everything was all so brand-fucking-new_ )

anything to happen, for Dennis to eventually return. There was a routine to what he did that made him feel nervous, almost like they were trying to condition him to expect certain events to happen at certain times. In his mind he saw the day - lunch at twelve, doctors coming in and checking his progress soon after, a shower every day

( _The man making his way into the oil tank with such a dark look on his face that he felt his heart skip, a look so dark that he almost trips over himself in an attempt to crowd his limbs into the back of the cage_ )

and amongst all of the routine, Dennis would pop in occasionally. He hadn't been in the upper levels of Shawshank for long, no more than a day, but still he knew this was the routine.

He saw it in the guard's eyes when they checked on him, in the corridors where he knew he would be walking soon enough, in His Room where he would sit still all night instead of attempting to sleep again. It was as if the current course of his future was imprinted in his brain already.

He had no idea how he knew that this was how his routine would be.

A rustling pulled him out of his thoughts, made him turn his head so fast he felt like he gave himself whiplash.

And there, in the corner - a mouse. It squeaked, twice in rapid succession as it continued to trek down the corridors he could see from his spot on the floor.

( _Ever since the failed sleeping attempt he had simply sat in his corner, the same corner where Dennis found him panicking and where he watched the phone call, where he had coaxed his own words out of a rusty throat_ )

It advanced, skewering off of the wall and he had a sudden thought -

_No. Back to the wall._

He felt only a pinprick of surprise when it did, veering straight back to it and following alongside.

_Go toward the mousetrap -_

_(And then the thoughts didn't feel like his own or if they were they weren't under his control, because it didn't sound like his newly discovered voice this sounded much more ancient and vibrated as if it were louder than just in his head_ )

He watched as the mouse marched closer to the trap he had just barely seen, watched as it got as close as it could to it and then just stood there as if waiting for directions.

_Go. Into the trap, little mouse._

_(He tried to use his own thoughts again once he heard that but it was no use, the part of him that wasn't him had wrested that control away and refused to give it up_ )

It took a step backwards and for a second he hoped it had broken free, that it would scurry away and the thoughts would stop.

But after the moment of hope it scurried forward and -

He averted his eyes but still heard the strangled squeak as it was caught by the trap. He knew, instantly, that it was dead.

_See?_

And now the thought was talking to him, he was talking to himself and yet he wasn't thinking the words, they just popped into his head and stayed there because they were his thoughts.

_See what you can do?_

He didn't want to be able to control things though, because if he could it meant

( _It meant he should still be in that damn cage, that the man was right like he had always feared that he really was evil and on some level had had never accepted it but now - now_ )

that there was a part of him that even he didn't know. That there was a part of him that he couldn't control.

_See what you can do if you just allow -_

The thoughts that were his but not were cut off when the door opened and a man stepped in, one of the only other guards he recognised, the one who had called him a fuckslave. He looked bored and when he let their eyes connect for just an instant he saw

( _How mean the man could be, and how he knew he should be nicer to his girlfriend but he wasn't and how he had some paraphernalia stashed away in his apartment that could lead him to a cell in the very prison he worked at_ )

his life. He didn't want to know this man, he knew that much. He didn't want to be with this man, especially after what had just happened. He wanted Dennis to watch over him as he tried to process it, the thoughts that weren't his but now he was going to have to push them away to be dealt with later.

The guard glanced at him, seemed to notice his worried expression and smirked.

“Yeah, if you're looking for Dennis you're gonna have to wait,” he said, taking a wider stance at the door. “Tonight we're stuck together, kid.”

He frowned at the words. It was going to be a long night.

~~~

He was upset.

In theory, he knew Dennis couldn't be with him every waking moment. He knew that the young man had an actual job inside of the prison, that he couldn't switch shifts with every guard. But it made the process of waiting for Henry

( _He wondered what exactly he would do when he did meet Henry and get out because the man hadn't exactly given him instructions for what to do but for now he let himself just adjust to his new situation)_

better, having someone he knew he could trust wasn't going to try to manipulate or hurt him. Dennis was caring and perceptive.

( _Not too perceptive though, he thought, because if the man really had been he would have known better than to release him, would've quietly shut and locked the oil tank and left him to starve_ )

And as an added bonus, the times they had interacted just one on one Dennis had actually tried to engage with him. Even if he had been cagey the first time the young man had still tried, which was more than anyone else had ever done so far.

He wanted Dennis by his side as the night fell. In the cage he had never been able to tell what the day might have looked like outside but now he could just see it, could see the night sky and hear the quiet of the air. It made his skin feel too tight to know that, and he didn't know why. The night just felt dangerous.

( _Maybe it was because he had been taken in the night and knew that dark quiet blanket so well, knew the way your struggles and screams can get swallowed in it and it wouldn't give one single fuck about eating you alive_ )

He knew he could probably communicate his feelings to the guard right outside His Room, but the words would never be said. He hadn't even planned on ever saying anything more than Henry’s name, but it was as if everything became easier around Dennis.

That was why he needed the young man to help him get through his first real night in Shawshank. That, or he needed out, immediately.

( _He wanted to be able to go into the little town that he just knew sat outside the chain link fence and scream, to wake people up with his voice just so he knew that he could still fight back and have others know he was_ )

He couldn't be in his makeshift cell a moment longer it felt and then he thought of before - of how some part of him had controlled the mouse. Maybe - maybe -

( _He could control the guards to open the door and then the gate that he knew lay outside, that he could somehow twist himself deep into their minds and force them to his will_ )

But as soon as he thought of it he discarded the idea. The deeper part of him knew that he had to start small, that was why the mouse had been first, because even if the main part of him didn't want to hurt it the deeper, more ancient part of him knew he had to and did it for them both.

So instead, he simply wrapped an arm around his knees and imagined it.

( _He would walk down the halls slowly because he knew he didn't have to rush, because the guards were all somewhere else perhaps_ )

He relaxed as he imagined it, the way he had been able to when he felt what new days would bring just by looking at the hall, as if the present and future were mixing together in his mind.

( _And the lights would all be off_ )

Wait no, that didn't make sense. Why would the light be off? He frowned at his own mind.

( _The guards wouldn't be away, they would be, they would be -_ )

This wasn't his own thinking it felt like - it felt like it technically was but it was the same part of him that had forced that mouse to kill itself and he didn't like that part very much because it held such power inside him.

( _They would be dead, wouldn't they, shot once or twice some even three times -_ )

The thought grew in his head and then it wasn't even just a thought, it was like a memory he had but it was impossible for it to be one -

( _The lights would turn on slowly behind him as he made his way to the camera but his face would remain in darkness, and he could almost smell the blood from the dead guard behind him but he knew it wasn't him who killed that man it was someone else_ )

He blinked, once. Twice. Never changing his position or face, even as the thought began to spiral even more in his mind and he was almost certain that this was no mere daydream anymore because it was almost like his insides were vibrating with an unknown energy even as he remained still -

 _(And then his perspective shifted and he wasn't him, he was a guard sitting in a dark room with monitors, book in hand and coffee on the desk_ )

He didn't know how he knew but he knew what he was experiencing was happening right then and there but it didn't make any sense, he couldn't stop -

( _He was reading a baby book and drinking coffee, he hardly noticed one monitor flicker out of the corner of his eye but he was more concerned with the fact that there was a fly in his coffee_ )

He wasn't himself, he wasn't him, he knew he had looked through someone else's eyes at something, something perhaps the deeper, ancient part of himself was doing -

( _And then he glanced up, only to put the book down when he saw that one monitor where the kid had been, he was gone - but how was that possible, he must still be there but then his eyes were drawn to a dark figure out in the hallway, walking towards another camera_ )

Stop it stop it stop it stop this wasn't what he wanted he just wanted to feel better but now -

( _And he knew it was the kid, who else could it be so he leaned forward, watched with dawning horror as he came as closer, and then the light turned on and he saw -_ )

STOP why couldn't he make himself stop, what couldn't he turn it off -

( _His face was so blank for a moment but then he strode forward and then he really saw it, the dark form of another guard, slick with blood and he knew that someone must have done this, perhaps the kid but it felt more like someone else had done this and then let him out which could be even more dangerous_ )

he realized that even as he was struggling against himself and however he was projecting his thoughts for the guard to see his body remained still, a skill he had learned in the cage -

( _He glanced wildly at all the monitors as he sprung up, every one of them with a body strewn on it and this was BAD, this was so bad that he didn't know what to do so he hissed out an “Oh shit,” and hurried over, punched the code in and grabbed the gun that rolled out_ )

As soon as it had started he felt his connection break off, as if he had done all he could do so he slumped forward, head pressed into his knees.

His mind felt blank. Whatever he had just done - he knew it had actually happened, that whichever guard he had been able to look through had seen his thoughts on the screen, had actually been freaked out and thought he had escaped, leaving dead guards in his wake.

In the aftermath he couldn't force himself to care though, even as an alarm started to blare.

~~~

It was morning, he could simply tell. The previous night had seen no actual breach by him and the entire incident was almost forgotten in his mind, instead focusing on the fact that he didn't get any sleep, and that they only brought him one slice of bread for breakfast.

Well, they didn't just bring him a slice of bread - there was a carton of milk too, some kind of fried meat and fruit along with the slice of bread.

His stomach turned at the thought of fruit, so he didn't test it on anything else. He knew what might happen if he did.

He was left alone for some time after his meal was delivered, probably in the hope that he would either fall asleep or eat all of his food. They would sadly be mistaken if that was the case.

And then, when the guard returned to take his tray he heard two steps of footsteps - and he knew.

( _Finally, he thought, cranky in his own head if nowhere else because he knew he shouldn't be ungrateful about how much time the young man spent with him but you know what, he was and he wasn't going to lie to himself he didn't exactly like just waiting his nights out he had done plenty of that before_ )

The door opened with a buzz, and someone shuffled in. He turned his gaze up to look at who it was.

Dennis didn't look the way he had expected him to. In fact he looked nervous, as if he was forcing himself to do something. He was probably just overworked and overtired from the incident last night. He wondered just what exactly had gone on, since he hadn't been able to see.

( _More like he didn't have the energy, he hadn't ever felt the type of tired he had after showing his bad thoughts, almost as if he were out of practice and maybe he was, maybe he was twenty seven years out of practice_ )

Neither of them said anything but Dennis smiled at him, albeit smaller than before and it disappeared quickly. He strode over and bent down, picking up the tray before glancing back up at him.

He must have not been happy with what he saw because he wiped his face once, balancing the tray with one hand as he did so before standing back up.

“Did you sleep?” he asked, the first words of the day between them. He shook his head no and Dennis looked more worried, brows burrowing at him.

There was another stretch of silence between them before the young man glanced back down at the mostly uneaten food in the tray.

“You should eat more,” Dennis said, and some of the nervousness melted off his face when looked back at him. “I know it probably doesn't taste great, but it’ll at least give you some more energy.”

He shrugged and folded one arm over his knees, staring up at the young man through tired eyes. He wished he had been able to force himself to sleep more, to sleep through his nightmare memory or at least drifted off during the night but instead he had remained wide awake, all the bad thoughts in his head getting pushed out to show someone else somehow.

( _The act itself of pushing the thoughts out had also exhausted him in a way he didn't know possible until now_ )

“I'll make sure they at least get you some more bread,” Dennis mumbled to himself, frowning at the tray he held. He wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he really didn't need to eat so he shouldn't worry but he kept his words to himself. Even if he didn't need it, it would be nice to get some more food he felt comfortable eating.

He nodded, letting his whole face tilt to show he was listening. Dennis softened as he watched and smiled again, before turning to leave, one hand carrying the tray and the other reaching for the door handle.

He hesitated at the door.

( _His stomach sank when he did so because he imagined all the bad news he could perhaps receive, all the tragedies that he couldn't have foreseen because in reality he had no idea just how much he really knew, even if it seemed like a lot he wouldn't be none the wiser if his powers didn't extend past a certain amount_ )

“You didn't like, leave here last night, did you?”

He sat up straighter at the words. That was not what he was expecting at all, nothing even close to it and they confused him. Leave here? How would he even be able to?

He shook his head no, not yet ready to attempt his voice again.

“Wander out or something?” and there was a desperate edge to his voice, something that caught his attention because why would he sound so desperate about something so surreal -

Oh.

_Oh._

_(Dennis had been the one he had shown his bad to, the one whose eyes he had looked through and felt panic through, the one who he saw flipping through a baby name book for his soon to be son and why hadn't he made the connection why had he been so self-absorbed that he had just been focused on his own image on those monitors why was he so disgusting and wrong and evil -_ )

“No, of course you didn't,” he murmured to himself, before opening the door.

“Wait.”

His voice came out louder than he expected and it startled both of them, although only Dennis showed it in the way he turned around with his mouth slightly agape.

He got up, legs unfolding and arms helping as he raised until he was at his full height. He breathed in and then out to steady himself before raising his eyes to meet Dennis’s.

( _He already knew that he had shown it to Dennis but he needed to confirm just how awful he was_ )

“Stay?” he said and Dennis’s eyes were so dark, dark and wide, as if he were taking in every single possibility and every single outcome and they showed him what he needed to see.

( _He sat at the desk, tired and overworked and just wanting to get off even though he knew he would be right back in the prison in about eight hours after his shift, but he needed to make money somehow for his baby and his wife and now - now there was the kid to worry about with his startling eyes and soft voice and so he glanced at the screen to check on him but he wasn't there - how - he wasn't in the infirmary -_ )

He broke the eye contact, ashamed at himself. He had done that, had shown the bad thoughts in his head to Dennis.

“Course I will buddy, as long as I can,” he said, placing the tray down on a table next to him. “We’ve got a couple of minutes before the other guy comes back.”

He nodded and they both stood there, not awkward the way anyone else would expect. He just wasn't ready to face his crimes against the young man yet ( _or perhaps ever_ ) and Dennis was content to allow him as much time as he needed.

So they stood, just facing each other and breathing and it wasn't bad, it was sort of nice in fact to just feel Dennis’s strong presence -

( _Ah shit, shouldn't have brought that up to him. Can't believe I'm signed up for another double shift after that too, not that I'm complaining I mean we need the money but -_ )

He blinked at the thoughts that weren't his own and glanced up at Dennis. He appeared deep in his own thoughts, biting his lip and staring at the floor.

( _\- and I didn't even read any good names so that was a waste of money, it's not like we should name him Dennis Jr. or some shit she wouldn't like that, a name should be unique isn't that what she said a couple days ago? I wonder what the kid's name is -_ )

Was he hearing Dennis’s thoughts? They weren't his own, he knew that and the mentions of a baby name and double shifts - those were all things that he knew Dennis had to worry about.

( _Jesus I'm already screwing it up for them! He needs a name and a good one, not some boring shit that he won't like, but how can we pick out a name if all of those books are filled with shit?_ )

He was worried about his unborn son’s name, of course. And he had added to that worry when he showed his own bad thoughts on the screen because he knew what Dennis had done after that now, knew how close he came to killing someone by accident.

( _I'm a terrible dad and a terrible husband, all she asks for me to do is come up with a couple names I like and here I am, with nothing to show her -_ )

“Don’t.”

He was surprised by the sound of his own voice, the quiet nature of it. He had been quiet all the other times he spoke but it was a different sort - the kind where you haven't done something in so long that your first tries are lacking.

This quiet however felt more natural, as if he were just trying to soothe Dennis.

( _That thought made the corners of his lips turn up at the sheer ridiculousness of it - him, the scared, starved prisoner comforting the correctional officer who had found him and comforted him_ -)

“Don't what buddy?” Dennis asked and his attention immediately broke away from that of his soon to be baby, back onto him. He looked worried, as if he feared he had done something wrong. One hand was brought up to his mouth and he wiped it quick.

“Don't worry,” he said, standing up to shuffle beside Dennis. The young man relaxed at the words and let a small grin play out on his face, staring up at him with

( _Affection he wanted to say but that was too incredulous, that anything as sweet and dependable as Dennis could care for him as much as it seemed so he didn't allow himself to feel happy at the warmth directed towards him_ )

a form of tired happiness. He had been pulling a lot of double shifts lately on top of his next one scheduled, and that wasn't an inference. Looking into his eyes he could see Dennis sitting in the locker room with his head in his hands, trying to force himself to stay awake, could see him drink mug after mug of coffee and see him collapse on the couch when he got home, too tired from work and stress to make it to bed.

“Worry about what? Henry is here, he's gonna get you out,” Dennis said, unaware of what he was really trying to convey.

( _It made his chest go tight for a second though to know that he was keeping tabs on Henry for him even though he had no idea why he was even needed in the first place_ )

“No, the baby name.” he said. “You’ll choose good.”

He expected the words to bring even a bigger smile to Dennis’s face but instead it went blank for a second and then his brows drew together, tighter and tighter before he looked back up at him with a mixture of surprise and fear.

“How did you know about the baby?” Dennis asked, and before he could even think of a response he asked again, “Or how we haven't picked a baby name yet?”

( _That was why he didn't smile - he wasn't supposed to know, wasn't supposed to have seen the baby name book Dennis had read the night he gave him a vision, wasn't supposed to know that his wife was eight months pregnant wasn't even supposed to know he had a wife in the first place -_ )

“Heard someone,” he said, hoping that it would satisfy the young guard's confusion. Instead it only seemed to have added to it, now with Dennis taking a step backwards towards the door.

“No man, that's not true. I haven't - no one knows we haven’t chosen a baby name. How the hell do you know?”

( _His body almost stiffened at the accusatory tone but he forced it not to because he knew Dennis had every right to be upset, that he had every right to question him and be freaked out so he forced himself to not imagine the man screaming at him, demanding to know what the hell he was_ )

“Dunno,” he said and it was partially the truth. He didn't know exactly how he knew but he knew that he saw it somehow after pushing the

( _evil poison that seeped into everywhere he went, he was like a plague that needed to be eradicated_ )

bad thoughts out of his head and into the world and after being confronted about it by Dennis - he only had to look into the young man's eyes to see exactly what that night had been like for him.

He didn't know how he did it, but it wasn't natural. He wasn't natural.

“I looked,” he said hurriedly after his half truth, not wanting to lie to the one person who had been truly kind to him. “I looked with you - I saw the book -”

“What?” And now the young man was at the door, face aghast and head shaking as if he were rejecting the very words. “What’re trying to say?”

“I didn't know - didn't mean to show you,” he said, taking a step of his own towards Dennis. He knew the young man was smart - he would put the two incidents together on his own soon enough. But maybe, maybe if he confessed to it first, Dennis wouldn't be so horrified or mad.

“Didn't mean to show you the bad.”

Dennis drew in a sharp breath at the words, bringing a hand up and wiping at his own so harshly that he was worried it would leave a mark.

“You mean the monitor? When I saw you...and the bodies?” he asked and at once he regretted revealing his crime to him. But he had, so he owned up to it, nodding as slow as he could manage.

“Oh fuck,” Dennis said, and he noticed that both of his hands were trembling. “I - I almost shot someone, I put the alarm on - I could have gotten _fired_ because of you.”

( _And instantly he sees in his head what would have happened if Dennis had gotten fired, could see the grim desperation in his eyes as he searched for another job, could see his panicked wife and the way they would have to live and it made his stomach drop to know how intimately they would be destroyed_ )

“I'm sorry,” he said, because he knew there was no defense. There was no way that he could spin what he did, no way that what he did was acceptable or right and it didn't matter that he couldn’t control it or that he didn't know it was Dennis because it didn't matter.

“I mean, how did you even do it?” Dennis asked, not even acknowledging his apology. He knew though that he wasn't ignoring it - the young man was simply too caught up in his own bewilderment and fear to process what anyone else was saying.

He didn't respond, because he had no clear answer. Just like he couldn't explain to himself how he had made that mouse run right into the trap

( _He still grew disturbed at himself and felt his throat tighten when he thought on it, its little body crushed in a trap, folded, he felt sickened when he imagined the thoughts that were him but not him, that he had no way to turn whatever it was about him that did it off_ )

or how he could see into others lives when he looked them in their eyes. It was as if as soon as he was released from the cage something was flipped on inside of him, something he didn't know how to flip back off.

“What are you?” Dennis breathed out, and his stomach lurched.

( _WHATAREYOU_ )

“No!” he took his own step back at the words because why would he say that -

( _WHAT ARE YOU THE MAN ROARED AND HE COULD HEAR IT COMPETE WITH THE BLOOD RUSHING IN HIS EARS_ )

why would anyone ask him that, he didn't know he didn't know he didn't _fucking know_ -

( _The man is back with a vengeance but it doesn't make any sense because he's supposed to be dead but so is he huh, down in a cage without food or water for weeks and yet here he is but he doesn't care because he can feel the way the man used to sit right in front of him and stare_ )

“ -ey hey buddy, no, tell me what's wrong -”

( _He can tell his breathing is too fast because he feels lightheaded but he can't slow it down, the man - he feels his presence everywhere and he is so afraid_ )

“-you're having a panic attack or something, please, just - just breathe deep or - fuck I dunno -”

( _He's going to be put back in a cage and the man is going to leave him to rot because he doesn't know what he is and that is his punishment to sit by himself in a cage for twenty seven years and let people come scream at him, come yell and jeer and cry out WHAT ARE YOU_ )

“Sit down, I bet if you just sit down you'll start to feel better, like last time -”

A hand closed around his wrist.

( _The pain stabs through his arm and pulses at his wrist, so hot he's almost afraid to touch it)_

“GET OFF!” he screamed, the loudest he ever let his voice go, loud enough that the hand obeyed and he could collapse into a heap on the ground, folding to take up as little room as possible.

( _And now he's worried - no scratch that, terrified about how the man is going to react to him screaming, to him refusing and not being passive and he can almost hear the way the cage rattles him_ )

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched you,” the voice wae younger than he remembered. “I'm just gonna - we both need a breather.”

He didn't believe the man. It’s just another trick to make him feel safe and comfortable, another manipulation that will make him softer and less wary and he is sick to death of it. Of all of it.

He doesn't look up, even as silence falls around him. He could hear his own heartbeat racing against itself, could feel the deep pull of his pulse and could feel the throb of his head but he didn't move. Didn't give any indication that he was vulnerable to the man.

“I’m just gonna go, okay? I'll come back but - we both just need to relax.”

Need to relax - how was he supposed to relax in a cage? How was he supposed to relax when every waking moment was spent with his anxiety high and unchecked, when his whole being was centered around the man and his moods?

He didn't respond again, just kept his head down and tucked in his arms and knees. He heard the man sigh but not reply, instead hearing his footsteps recede.

He heard something open - a heavy object - and then close again. He couldn't hear the man anymore, not even his heartbeat or erratic breathing.

( _Which made no sense because the only way out was up, and he would've heard the way the man climbed up the ladder and opened the big opening before closing it again, leaving him alone in his own self-made agony_ )

But he didn't look up. Didn't look to understand what had just happened, how the man had returned or how he had come to be placed back in the cage. He didn't question it. Because if there was one thing he had come to accept in twenty seven years, it was the fact that he would never get out.

_See what happens when you try to make him understand?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is confused about what happened at the end, Dennis triggered the Kid when he said "what are you?" since that was something Warden Lacy used to demand him to answer and he never could bc he didn't know which would result in punishment. Hearing it again made him lash out and regress in a way, so basically he thought that Dennis was The Man (Warden Lacy) and that he was back in the cage. Idk dudes, I'm only in week one of AP Psych this is all just made up so


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kid gets moved before Dennis has a chance to come back, and doesn't see him again for what seems like a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, hope you enjoy that this chapter has a bit more comfort at the end than The rest have :) sorry if its crappy because again I wrote this time like 90% of it in one sitting. 
> 
> Also thanks to grayorca for beta-reading this!
> 
> Edit : hey y'all, if you're like me you stayed up Tuesday night and watched the last episode. No spoilers, I just want to let everyone know that this story definitely will not be following the canonical ending/last episode at all basically - whatever that may be.

He wasn't in a cage anymore. 

He had realized that, again, after Dennis had left, taking all his strength and energy and compassion with him. It left nothing but a void for him to spiral into to, to remember all the wrong he had brought with him since he had been released, letting him drown in his own anger and shame and worthlessness. 

_Worthless. All you bring is bad. You brought bad to the one person who has been kind to you._

He had unfolded himself after this revelation, looking around blearily and wiping the hair out of his eyes 

( _He thought of the sensation when Dennis had stroked it, the way he could feel it being parted and moved side to side and how different it was from the clinical way the doctor had gone through it - this was gentle and comforting, not looking for anything but for his harried breathing to slow down)_

in an attempt to see if Dennis was nearby. 

He wasn't. 

Something curled in his stomach, some sort of shame that ate up his insides and squeezed his throat till it felt hard to breathe. As if he didn't deserve the very air in the room. 

_You don't. Stupid, stupid, stupid boy._

He almost wished the thoughts in his head were The Bad again, the part of him who had forced that mouse to kill itself. He wished it wasn't himself who was calling him stupid and worthless, because then it was true. 

When Lacy had called him evil, it had been easy to dismiss at first. When his own thoughts had began to, it was harder to ignore.

_Worthless, evil being. That's what you are._

He wanted to curl up again and hide his face, hide everything about him, but instead he forced his back to remain straight to the wall. If Dennis came back, he wouldn't allow himself to wilt in his presence. He would wait till he could explain himself and see what the young man decided to do about it to wilt. 

He didn't come back. 

~~~

He heard footsteps approach, but didn't bother to look. He knew that it was probably another random guard doing his rounds, having to glance into His Room to see if he had touched the new meal that had been given him, a pitiful dinner with no bread that he hadn't even touched. 

He didn't even look when the door buzzed and someone strode in. They were probably just there to grab the tray, make some type of snide remark 

( _The other guard - fuckslave guard - he had scoffed at his face when he saw who it was, crouched down and said “you got Zalewski in some big fucking panic when he came out you know, what freaky shit did you do to him?” and the words made his throat burn so he swallowed harshly - the guard just snickered and got up without a second glance_ ) 

and then leave him alone to his spiraling thoughts again. 

_The man was right to cage you, you idiot, all you bring is evil did you really expect for anything to change when you got out?_

Whoever it was simply waited at the door for several moments. He neglected to turn his head towards them. 

“Get up.” he hadn't expected those words so he jerked his head to stare up, into the eyes of the man who had accompanied the new warden the day he had made his request. 

_(He sees no good in his eyes though, just the way the warden had called Warden Lacy a decent man, how he must have had a reason to imprison him and his stomach flips at the memory)_

He could tell that this man was not the sort to make a request twice by the way he was standing there, face impassive and hands shoved into his pant pockets. He was not there to 

_(comfort him the way Dennis had before he had driven him away - stupid, worthless boy)_

baby or coddle him. He was there to fulfill the mission that Warden Porter had given him. But he waited a beat longer, just to see if anyone else was to accompany them. 

_Stop getting attached,_ The Bad snapped at him and he almost wanted to jump at the sudden nature of its voice. It had been silent since Dennis had accidentally triggered him, almost as if it was allowing him time to recuperate. That time was over, apparently. 

The man raised an eyebrow at him and nodded out the entrance of His Room, looking as though he had no problems in forcing him to get up and move. 

_Get up, right now_ , The Bad said but not in an angry way. Just as if… as if it knew he had to, or worse things would follow. The Bad was getting more confusing, he realized, on just how bad it truly was. It seemed to be trying to keep him safe in some ways, like 

( _Dennis_ ) 

a survival instinct. 

He pushed himself up, frowning to himself at The Bad but didn't hesitate to walk over to the man. He wasn't sure exactly what was happening but he had a good idea. His Room would cease to be His Room and go back to being the infirmary if he was correct. 

He paused for a second at the man before ducking his way out of the door, and into the hallway. 

~~~

The way the man walked behind him kept him tense, waiting for a strike at any given moment. He had been led deeper and deeper into the prison until the man seemed to decide where to take him, veering off of the hallways and into the cell blocks. 

They paused at one big metal caged door, waiting for a buzz through like they had the other times. The man looked at him, smirking to himself at what he saw and his stomach jerked. 

( _The man thought he was about to he taken care of, that he was doing the right thing and that there was no way Henry Deaver could ever find a man like him, especially if he were dead and left to rot in an unmarked grave_ ) 

The man was wrong. Even if he wanted to die, he was sure The Bad would not allow it. It had not allowed him to die during the week he had been trapped alone in the cage, when Warden Lacy had killed himself. It would not allow him to die at whatever else life threw his way. 

He ducked and walked into the new row of cages when the door buzzed and the man held the door open, walking slowly as he had the feeling that he was almost at their destination. 

He had been right. He had traded a cage for a different one, and he wasn't sure it had been the right choice. 

“Go ahead and stop,” the man said randomly, so he did, stopping and looking around the cell block he was on, taking in the sheer sound and size of the place, the way all the prisoners jeered and screamed. 

If anything, it was the exact opposite of the tank. 

He turned when the man opened one of the cell doors, stepping and hunching over to look into it and see who, if anyone was inside. 

There was a man lounging on the bed, with various tattoos that he couldn't quite place the meaning of but knew that they didn't mean good things. In his hands he held a copy of the bible, and something about it made him feel like it was dirtied. He looked up and made the mistake of staring straight into his eyes.

“The fuck’s this little prick?” the man said, and he couldn't look away, couldn't force himself to look down or at the other man because all he could see was

( _They all shout in white robes and the woman in the center screams, begs to be let out but they won't, he sneers at her and shouts louder, louder still -_ ) 

the man's past crimes and life. None of it is good, but none of it made him any more tense or scared. He felt like he was already as fearful as he could be, that some threshold was not allowing him to feel sheer terror. That was reserved for 

( _A different sort of cage and a different sort of man who screamed, for broken wrists and freezing feet -_ ) 

different circumstances all together. Still though, he did not look away and he did not step closer. 

“Looks like you gentlemen are double booked,” the man who had led him there said, voice casual even though he seemed to know exactly what he wanted. “Austerity measures.”

( _Wrong, his mind hissed because he wasn't a prisoner, he had done his time twenty seven years in a hole, he didn't get out only to be thrown back into a cage_ ) 

He didn't say anything though, just gave the man another wide-eyed but not frightened glance before ducking down to get into the cage. The breath he was holding in puffed out, nervous about being back into a cage, knowing that the door would shut behind him and lock. 

The cell door swung behind them and he shrank into himself, shuffling to the wall until his back hit it. The man locked the door and walked away.

It was just him and the tattooed man then. 

_Not just_ , The Bad reminded him. He frowned at the words because he wanted the Bad to be reminding him of someone else. 

That someone else wouldn't be able to protect him any longer though. 

_You can protect yourself,_ The Bad said in his mind but it just served to confuse him more. What The Bad was saying wasn’t wrong or evil. It was good advice from him, to him, about realistically what he must do. 

_Dennis isn't here. He's not going to protect you and neither is anyone else_ , it continued and he leaned up against the wall of the small cell, allowing his gaze to fall to the floor. He slumped over slightly, arms crossed and legs together. It was how he had stood in the cage when he actually felt like standing. 

_Stop looking submissive_ , The Bad barked at him. _Keep your back straight and your arms uncrossed. No one is going to protect you but you, so start doing it._

He wanted to argue but his previous exchange with Dennis made him hesitate, made him wary about putting all his trust into the man. Not because he didn't believe that he was a good man - no, that was exactly why actually. He didn't want to drag him in any further than he already had been. His wife and baby didn't deserve it. 

Dennis didn't deserve his wrongness. 

He straightened his back and uncrossed his arms, continuing to stare out through the cell door, out onto the cold walkway. 

~~~

It had only been an hour since he had been put into the new cell when he actively searched for Dennis. 

He felt claustrophobic about being in such a small space again, although funnily enough the roar of the other inmates and his own room-mate helped abate it. Down in the cage, the silence had left him free to scream anything just to be able to know he wasn't deaf. It had driven him crazy, so to hear others talking and their footsteps now - it made him feel better, even just by a marginal amount. 

He wondered where Dennis was. He hadn't expected the young man to seek him out but some part of him still wanted to know, to be able to keep tabs on him to make sure he was all right. 

_You want to see?_ The Bad asked and it seemed surprised like it hadn't expected him to actually want to use whatever new-found powers he had. 

He glanced at the inmate on the bed behind him and then looked out towards the bars before nodding. 

_You’re curious,_ it murmured in his head. _You want to know what you can do?_

He shrugged, mouth downturned. He didn't care what he could do, he just cared to know if he could see where Dennis was.

_Ask and you shall receive._

( _He was at home, having gotten off of work a couple hours ago, never having the guts to venture down and see the kid again so instead he had gladly accepted his shift outside, not even caring when he had gotten paired up with Boyd but now at home, about to fall asleep he could finally stop thinking about his morning_ ) 

A shift on the bed behind him drew him out of his vision momentarily, enough to make him dizzy before something pulled him back in - 

( _He sat down on the bed and his eyes burned at the thoughts of the poor kid screaming at him, terrified of something so he had just left him to cry and work through the panic attack by himself, leaving like some type of coward and Emilia had been able to tell that something was wrong and asked but all he could do was shake his head, not being able to explain the monitor and the freak out and the way he fled afterward_ ) 

Dennis was at home, thinking about him. It made him uncomfortable to know he was affecting the man so much when he didn't deserve to. He should be relaxing with his wife 

( _Emilia, he saw her in his mind, dark hair and mischievous eyes but that was as far as the mischief went, the rest of her was nice, nice and kind and beautiful inside and out and no wonder Dennis loved her_ ) 

and nodding off, not stressing over him. 

“Shut the _fuck_ up, will you?” 

The words startled him out of his gaze into Dennis’ home but he didn't let it show outwardly, just turned his head till he could barely glance at the man. He was gazing up at him through cold eyes, book held in both hands but no page having been turned in quite some time. 

“What are you, a pederast?” he asked. 

( _He didn't know what type the man was asking he was, younger or older but either way he answer was a resounding NO_ ) 

He didn't answer, now simply because the tattooed man did not deserve a response. 

_Careful,_ The Bad warned him and he stiffened at its voice. _You will have to protect yourself_. 

He blinked once in the man’s general direction and turned his head again to look through the barred door of the cell. 

“Judge lest not you be judged.” 

( _And now he did show an actual reaction, something like a grimace pulling over his face because the words reminded him of the man reading the bible to him in the cage and him lapping the words up, simply happy to have anything other than silence)_

The man shifted on the bed, and his shoulders came up, making him seem smaller than he was. His eyes burned with tears that weren't for this man, but for memories of another. 

_You're going to have to protect yourself,_ The Bad repeated in his head, its self-assurance not misplaced. _So get ready._

The man got up then and he watched, felt a shiver roll down his spine when he walked until he was right in front of him. He might have had the advantage of height, but this man was much bulkier, stronger than him. It was obvious just by a single glance. 

“You don't want to touch me,” he whispered to the man and the words were not a plead. They were a warning, because he knew that even if he couldn't defend himself that The Bad would. It was simply trying to prepare him for whatever was about to happen.

“What?” the man asked, leaning his head forward so he could whisper in his ear. 

He pressed himself back into the corner. “Don't want to touch me...” the words came out weird, higher in the wrong places and hissed out in a non-threatening manner.

The man leaned back and chuckled, before reaching for him -

~~~

He didn't know exactly what had happened but suddenly the inmate was wheezing, bent over and grasping at his chest, stumbling back until he fell on the bed -

~~~

_You protected yourself, stop crying. He deserved to die, he was going to hurt you, stop CRYING -_

~~~

Nights had been the hardest for him since being released from the cage, but he thought this might just be his hardest night ever, spending it in a different sort of cage with the body of someone he had killed, even though he hadn't meant to. 

_You just don't know your own power_ , The Bad coaxed, as his sobs petered out. He had curled up as close to the door as he could be, limbs folded up so he was as far away from the body as he could get. _You knew it before, you'll know it again -_

“Stop, _stop_ , stop talking,” he choked out to himself, pressing his face into his arms. “I don't want to _listen.”_

The Bad stopped talking at his request, but then the words were stuck on repeat in his head at his own volition. 

_You knew it before -_

His past, the Bad was talking about his past. Some part of him remembered what was blocked from him. 

_You'll know it again._

~~~

He hadn't slept at all. Someone had come whistling by early in the morning, and he saw them in his mind, slicked back hair and a bagel in one grasp. They were coming to his cell. 

“ _Guten morgen_ , Adolf,” he heard them say, heard the keys rattling in the door and then heard it open. He closed his eyes when he heard the guard’s breath catch in his mouth stuffed with bagel. 

“Fuck me.” 

~~~

The whole process of getting the body out was a blur to him, all he knew was that had been out in the hallway and been able to take a few deep breaths of air before he had to get back into the cage so he took the opportunity to do just so - 

~~~

He could hear his footsteps. 

He knew it was Dennis because of the uneven pacing that brought to mind a certain desperation a parent might have if searching for a missing child. They would start fast before ending abruptly for a minute or so and then starting up the same way. He could see it in his mind 

( _Dennis didn't know where they took the kid and yes, there was something wrong with him for knowing what he knew and doing what he did but he said he couldn't control it and he had to apologize so he had went back to the infirmary with a loaf of bread as a peace offering but he wasn't there -_ ) 

as if it were himself. The footsteps pitter-pattered closer, now down his wing, his row of 

( _cages)_

cellblocks. He would have called out were it not for the uncertainty that gripped his throat, for the way he wasn't sure he wanted Dennis to find him. If he did, he surely knew about the death he had already caused. He couldn't see how the man would want anything to do with him if that was the case. 

His morning had already been incredibly panic-inducing and chaotic. He didn't want to freak out in front of Dennis, again. 

The footsteps skidded to a stop in front of his door, and after a moment of panted breathing he heard a desperate Dennis breathe out a, “Buddy?” 

His uncertainty melted away and he stepped in front of the door, face crumpled only slightly at the sight of the young man. 

“Buddy, oh my god, oh _my god_ ,” he breathed out and something was tight in his throat at the words, at the concern Dennis was showing for him as if he were worth it. 

( _It was the shame, he realized again, the same shame that had wrapped around it and squeezed once he realized that he had freaked out on Dennis and screamed at the one person he hadn't felt like screaming at_ ) 

“Hello,” he croaked out, unsure of what else to say and Dennis let out a teary laugh at the words. His hands found the keyhole and began to stuff a key into it, looking around to make sure no other guards were coming. 

“I'm getting you out of here,” Dennis said, bringing a hand up to wipe his mouth. “If only for my break.” 

The door swung open. 

~~~

They had found themselves in His Room, once again - now only the infirmary. Once inside he had immediately gone to his corner, in front of the trash can, sliding down into it and letting himself take a moment to adjust. 

Dennis stood by the door, face a mixture of hesitation, concern and fear. One he was sure was slightly mirrored onto his. 

Neither of them spoke until the guard broke the silence, with words he did not expect. 

“I’m screwed up,” Dennis said, taking a step further into the room, towards him. There was no mention of what had happened before with his new cell-mate or the panic attack before that. “I - I got -” he stopped himself and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

( _He knew Dennis was tearing up because he was so confused, he didn't know what had happened beforehand but he thought it might have been his fault, that he had given him a panic attack - and he wanted to soothe Dennis and explain himself but the words only got caught in his throat so he didn't speak, just let him ramble on_ ) 

“You know, fathers get this thing called sympathetic pregnancy,” he tried again, and now he took several more steps, kneeling down to be eye-level with him. “Mind fog, nausea, it fucks with your sleep and stuff…” he trailed off. 

There was more silence between them so he looked, willed himself to look Dennis in the eyes and explain. 

“I didn't mean to,” he said, so quiet he was sure only the two of them could hear. “Didn't mean to show the bad. I'm sorry.” 

Dennis drew a breath in at the words before nodding. He seemed to be letting go of the tension in him, letting it seep out until his face and body were slack. 

“You didn't mean to,” he whispered to himself and then, to his surprise, Dennis took his hand. He didn't flinch as he watched it approach and then encircle it, just watched with something akin to amazement. 

Dennis forgave him

Dennis _forgave_ him. 

“I'm sorry you got put into that cell,” Dennis said, voice soft as he drew his thumb over his bigger hand. “If I could I would- _fuck,_ if I could afford to lose this job -”

“Don't,” he said immediately because he knew how good of a person Dennis was. He knew that he could convince his wife that he had done the right thing if he did what he was thinking, that they were rescuing him and that they would be fine. 

( _If Dennis decided he was going to smuggle him out like he was thinking about and running they would be penniless and criminals on the lam and he couldn't do that, couldn't do that to this tiny expanding family he was already intruding on through Dennis, couldn't fall any further into them_ ) 

_No one's going to protect you but yourself,_ The Bad whispered and now he understood. It wasn't trying to tell him that Dennis wouldn't protect him, it was trying to tell him to not allow that. To not take any more than he already had, to spare the young man the pain he caused. 

Sometimes The Bad wasn’t necessarily... bad. Sometimes he just needed to be reminded that no one but himself anymore had the grit to muzzle him. 

If he were the feral, biting dog, Dennis was the child convinced he could transform it into his dream pet. 

“Emilia and the baby need you,” he continued, noticing the way that Dennis swallowed harshly at the words. It was probably still strange, to hear the undisclosed name of his wife come out of his mouth since he truly had no means to know. “Don't do something stupid.” 

Dennis squeezed his hand, not tight but just enough to let him know he was there. 

“Did you…” and now the words were hesitant, as if he didn't want to scare him away. “Did you...did you kill that man? The one they put you with?” 

( _His mind seemed to freeze and scratch at the question because he didn't know how to respond, didn't know how to tell Dennis that yes he had, he hadn't meant to but something in him had seized with fear and snapped, somehow killing the man for simply touching him_ ) 

He didn't answer, just looked away from their hands and swallowed harshly. No answer seemed to be enough for Dennis though and he squeezed his hand again, this time even gentler than before. 

“He was going to hurt you.” Dennis didn't say the words like a question - no, he said them as if it were facts. Perhaps they were. “You defended yourself.” 

He shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing. Defend though - that was a stretch. Defense did not require death. 

“ ‘M bad,” he muttered to Dennis. “Castle Rock is... bad because of me.” 

They sat there in silence for a beat, before Dennis cleared his throat and began talking. 

“My wife, she didn’t grow up around here. She grew up on an island,” he said, shifting to look back at the door. He knew there was only so much time before another guard would come by on their rounds and Dennis would be forced to return him to his cell, but for now it was nice to just listen to his voice. 

“She doesn't know. Doesn’t understand the...the wrongness of Castle Rock,” he continued. “But I gotta tell you something - c'mon, look at me, buddy -” 

( _Look at me the man commanded and he did so, looking into those hateful eyes and wanting to scream at the righteous anger they held_ ) 

He flinched at the words but not by much. These words were not a command, they were a request and he knew when he turned his head up to do so he would not see anything malevolent. All he would see was Dennis’s soulful eyes and life. 

So he did so with a slow tilt up, eyes trailing behind before making their way back up. 

“The wrongness isn't _you_.” 

The words hit him and though all he let himself do to physically react was close his eyes and bow his head, in his mind he heard the Bad growl at the claim. He had the sensation of something digging itself deeper into or under his skin as if trying to find purchase on a dangerous climb, so he squeezed his eyes shut harder. 

“Don't say that,” he muttered and withdrew his hand from Dennis’s only for it to be stopped. The young man had grabbed it back, gently tugging on it until he gave up. 

“No, because it's not fair that Lacy made you think that,” Dennis continued and then he looked upset, mouth trembling and brows furrowed. “It's not true, buddy. I don't care how much you were told that, it's not true.” 

“It is,” he protested and his mind flashed back to the inmate, the way all he had to do was grab him and suddenly the man was coughing, gasping for breath and then drawing his last on the bed. “It's true.” 

“You apologized,” Dennis said, not willing to listen to his words. “You couldn't help it. You're not bad, you're just... struggling.” 

He fell silent, not knowing how to argue further with the young man. Dennis seemed to have already made his mind up about him, even if he was sure it was wrong. 

“I killed him,” he admitted, if only to get him to understand. He was the bad, even though he wished he wasn't. Or if he wasn't, then The Bad was. And he was The Bad. And The Bad was him. And around and around they went. “I didn't - didn’t mean to.” 

“Exactly!” Dennis said and then he stood up suddenly, shuffling towards the door and glancing out the window. “You didn't mean to.” 

“He’s dead.” 

“I know.” he said and sighed. “Shit, time to go, buddy. I'm supposed to be making my rounds soon - remember, I took my break to find you -” 

( _He felt awful when he heard that because when he had looked into Dennis’s eyes he had seen his day so he knew what he did during his breaks, he called his wife and asked how her day was going, listened to her with a smile and asked about the baby, clumsily deflected when she asked about baby names_ ) 

“Bring me back,” he said and stood up, walking to the door and standing next to him. Dennis looked up at him and wiped his mouth, glancing back out at the hallway. 

“Probably should,” he muttered. “But I want you to know…” he hesitated and he looked down, down at Dennis and saw. 

( _He wanted to tell the poor kid how sorry he was, how much he wanted everything to change for both of them, how much he just wanted to help but how he couldn't, how Henry wasn't really getting anywhere but he was trying so hard -_ ) 

“Dennis,” he said and realized it was the first time he had said his name. “I know.” The young man smiled, uncertain, but opened the door to shuffle them both out. 

He stepped out into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this week is gonna be crazy, both with Castle Rock and my own life. Something seems like its gonna just get wild.
> 
> Or maybe it's the fact that I stayed up too late to write then format this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dennis brings The Kid a gift and Henry makes contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is late everyone, some school, work and life stuff got in the way. 
> 
> But I hope you all still like it! :3

His cell felt more claustrophobic now that he was alone, ironically.

Only the chattering of the other inmates and the faint light emanating from outside his cell kept his breathing in check, made sure he didn't think back to

( _a dark cage, huddled up in one corner as he gulped for air, simply allowing the tears to run down his face as he realized it was the anniversary of his capture, a whole two years since he had been taken and he typically didn't cry anymore because what was the use but he allowed himself this one time, feeling them track over his cheeks and take in shuddering breaths_ ) 

his previous arrangement inside of Shawshank.

Dennis had been reluctant to leave him at first, hovering by the door as he cautiously settled himself down on the bed, eyes darting all around as he remembered his former roommate. 

( _The way he moaned and pawed at his own chest, as if the man could somehow rip out the unnatural cancer with his bare hands, rip it out and keep on breathing but of course that wasn't possible so instead he collapsed onto the bed and choked on his own tongue_ ) 

“He would’ve hurt you,” Dennis had said suddenly, shifting from side to side on the other side of the cell. “I've - I've had to break up fights between him and others before, but sometimes we... we don't always get there in time.” 

He listened, training his eyes on Dennis’s face as the young man swallowed thickly and rubbed his mouth. He knew what the young man was trying to say without having to actually speak the words - there had been hurt men before. Very _very_

( _dead_ ) 

hurt men. 

“It never leaves you,” Dennis continued softly, almost to himself, but not quite. “Finding someone bleeding out, looking at you to help, and you can't - you can't save them.” 

( _In his eyes he saw the young man going home, Emilia meeting him at the door with a welcoming smile that was quickly wiped off her face when she saw her husband's expression, holding him until he finally cracked and sobbed into the early hours of the morning, patting his back and whispering, “You couldn't have done anything else, Den, you couldn't have - ” but he could he could have been there he could have done BETTER_ ) 

“I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't… don’t feel too bad.” And then a harsh light entered the young man's eyes, the sort when a good person finally realizes that there are evils in the world that can't be redeemed. “He would have hurt you.” 

“Okay.” 

There was a beat of silence as Dennis continued to look at him, shifting his stance into a more relaxed one when he pushed one knee up to prop his chin on it. 

( _He imagined an older brother or father doing the same thing, quietly observing a child as they explored a new environment, watching with quiet admiration and love over the innocence and it made him sick to think Dennis watched him that same way now because he wasn't innocent, he was terrible and wrong and dirty, you stupid useless boy_ ) 

“I've gotta go now,” Dennis said, abruptly, scratching the back of his neck. He came a bit closer, motioning for him to do the same so he scooted to the edge of the bed. 

The guard’s face was solemn, but his eyes were slight with intent. “I have an idea, though. I'm gonna bring you something tomorrow, think you can hold on until then?” 

He nodded. 

“Well…” Dennis chuckled and glanced around again, into the cell and out into the hall. “Have a good night, buddy.” 

He nodded again, unsure of what to say that wouldn't end the exchange on an awkward note. Dennis bit his lip and peered in one more time before beginning to walk away, shoulders back and spine straight the way it had been when he had first been taken to the showers. 

“You, too,” he called after him, but quiet enough so that the young man wouldn’t be able to hear. He leaned back onto the bed, still lumpy but nowhere near uncomfortable as the cage and stared at the ceiling. 

_You, too._

It was going to be a long wait. 

~~~ 

“Look what I got you,” Dennis said at the door to his cell. 

It had taken about a day before the young man had been able to see him again, a day of silently resting without actually sleeping in the cell, of a random guard shoving a meal through the slot on the door at random intervals, sometimes not even waiting for him to grab it

( _He groaned to himself when the tray crashed to the floor and watched the guard walk away, peering over the bed to see just what had dropped but it was nothing he wanted so he let it sit there until the next day, when a different guard came up cursing and grabbed the tray and bigger chunks of food for him_ ) 

so it had splattered on the floor. He could still see some stains from the meal on it, flecks of brown and orange. No one had come to take him out of his cell for another shower, either, which didn't exactly bother him. He had gone without a real one for twenty-seven years, he could go another couple of days as well. 

But now Dennis was back to break the mind-numbing, monotonous cycle that he had settled into, conditioned to respond well to it from his time 

( _in the cage_ ) 

with Warden Lacy.

“C’mon, it’s nothing bad.”

He blinked once, creeping closer to the young man to look at what he held. It was a…device of some sort, a white plastic oval with (what looked like) a speaker in it. 

“It’s a- baby monitor,” Dennis explained, handing it to him through the slot of the door. He studied it again, before slowly pushing a hand out to take it and study. 

“Me and Em bought them for the baby,” he said, than quickly rushed to explain when he saw his guilty face. “Don't worry, this is good actually. Now we'll know if they're at least worth the price.” 

“What are they for?” he asked, turning the monitor over in his hand. Dennis grinned and came out with a second monitor, this one looking significantly more advanced than his own. 

“Well, this one's for parents to be able to hear their kids, right? In case something happens?” he explained, pointing to the monitor as he did. “So the one you have, it sends the sounds where it is to mine, so I can hear them.” 

“So you can...hear from this one, to that one?” he asked, first pointing at his own and then Dennis’s. 

“Yep, just like that. And mine, I can press a button and talk back. I'm - actually not sure why I can. More like a walkie talkie, huh?” 

He nodded, even though he had no idea what a walkie talkie was. Hell, he was just barely learning what the baby monitors were. 

“Anyways, I was thinking that with this, you could feel safer? And if you started feeling bad or - or anxious, all you have to do is talk through the baby monitor! Pretty smart, right?” Dennis asked proudly. He gripped his own monitor tightly and gave him a small smile. 

“Smart,” he said. Dennis grinned back at him. 

“I have to go on monitor duty now - the computers, I mean, but I was thinking that we could test them in an hour? You'll know it's been an hour because two guards will walk past your cell on rotation,” Dennis said, and he realized that the young man had either thought his plan out to a T, or he knew the schedules of all possible shifts and roles intrinsically. Both, most likely. 

“Okay,” he said, pointing out towards the hall. “When two guards walk down there, I talk into the baby monitor.” 

“Exactly, buddy,” Dennis said, and then paced away without another word. 

~~~

He had stood rooted into his spot by the cell door for the whole hour, never turning his eyes away from the front. His efforts paid off when he saw the two guards boots coming and hid the baby monitor behind him, but remained close to the cell door. 

“ - we got that fuckin’ kid in this cell now, ever since Adolf kicked the bucket,” one of them said as they walked by, both pausing at his door for a moment. 

“Did he kill him?” the other asked, talking as if he wasn't right there, staring down at him. 

( _Yes_ ) 

“Nah, dude was loaded with terminal cancer.” With their final comments spoken they walked away, leaving him to frown at the explanation before remembering about the baby monitor and grabbing at it behind him. 

He stood up and paced his cell once, staring down at the tiny device with some apprehension. He knew that realistically, Dennis was not lying to him or giving him false hope with the monitor, but the fear was still present. 

( _Which was dumb because if anything, Dennis should be afraid of him but he wasn't, he was brave and compassionate and brought him the baby monitor even when he had caused terror and panic for him through his projected visions and own panic attack_ ) 

He peered at it a moment longer before deciding to respond. 

“Dennis,” he whispered into the monitor, cocking his head to one side as he waited for a response. Even though it was ridiculous, something in him was still terrified the young man would change his mind, never respond back and simply leave him to rot in the cell. 

Or, as he would put it, Dennis would make the right decision. 

The monitor let out a chattery burst of static and instead of dropping it he only frowned, gripping it harder in his hands. 

( _Sounded like The Bad on an off day when it got angry and screamed, the words muffled and leaving only the pounding noise_ ) 

“ _I'm here, buddy,_ ” Dennis said, through the monitor. He stared at it still, unsure of whether he should respond back or not. 

“ _You should hide it now, okay? I'll try to hide mine, but, well...we'll see how long we can keep this up_.” 

“Okay,” he whispered back, looking around his little cell for any hiding places. “I'm not...sure where.” 

There was another burst of static but this one startled him even less so he merely gripped the monitor a bit harder, making sure it wouldn't drop. 

“ _How about...your mattress? Up against the wall - stuff it right between the wall and the mattress_.” 

He nodded before remembering he needed to actually respond back to Dennis. Nods didn’t make sound.

“Okay.” 

He did as the young man said, carefully wedging the monitor between the two objects, making sure it wasn't stuffed in too hard but it wasn't too loose at the same time. Finally though, the monitor seemed to be in the perfect position. 

“I think it's good,” he said, shifting back to sit on the bed until he was right next to it, legs crossed, slightly bent down for Dennis to hear. 

“ _Good job, buddy_ ,” Dennis said and the corners of his mouth lifted up at the praise. “ _I've gotta go, my shift is almost up, but I'm glad we got this worked out now._ ” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“ _You gonna be okay?_ ” 

“Yes.” 

“ _All right, good. I'll see you tomorrow, as soon as I can, okay?_ ” 

“Okay.” 

“ _Okay then, bye._ ” With a final burst of static Dennis was gone, having been reassured by him that nothing bad was going to happen, at least nothing bad that he could control. He looked around his empty cell one more time and sighed. 

Just like the cage, there was really nothing he could do but wait. 

~~~

He would admit, he checked up on Dennis a lot. 

It wasn't out of some undue desire to intrude on the man’s life, but simply born out of a need to know he was okay. After already seeing so much of the young man's life 

( _His wife, Emilia, and the unnamed baby, the nights spent waiting for sleep that never came, sobbing on bad nights and watching movies on good, shoveling food into his mouth because it felt like he hadn't eaten his whole shift of twelve hours -_ )

it was comforting to look in and know Dennis was okay. 

The Bad had been silent for awhile, silent since he had been brought back to his cell about two days (or a bit less) ago, perhaps because there had been no real need for its… services. 

Or perhaps it was resting as well, in its own way. 

He poked at it now, the mass of thought in the back of his mind that almost felt like it had a physical weight, some ball of another form that was not his own still occupying him. 

_...hello?_

It seemed to shift, as if getting up after being awoken from a night of good rest. 

_Hello?_

_Yes?_ The Bad responded after the second time, not sounding annoyed as he had expected, but simply tired. It made him uncomfortable, to know that it had such human-like attributes. Nothing about The Bad had struck him as human-like before. 

_I want to see Dennis again_ , he said, positioning himself on the bed for the inevitable vision. The Bad perked up at the words, seeming to come even more alive. 

_Why?_

The question took him aback, simply because he hadn't actually expected it. Last time, The Bad had simply shown him on his way without truly questioning anything.

This time, it had.

 _Because I - I need to check up on him._

_No, you don't. Why do you want to see Dennis?_

_Because,_ he thought of what he should say, if he should lie or tell what he was really thinking. _I...need him._

_The truth, then._

_You don't need him_ , The Bad said, although it didn't sound particularly angry or upset with him. Simply stating facts, facts that he couldn't agree with.

Was this feeling not fact now, too? Something in him had latched onto the young man, the needy, desperate part that wanted someone to run hands through his hair and wake him up from nightmares, the voice that would reassure him he wasn't so awful. Even if it was a lie, it was nice to hear from someone that he wasn't bad. Wasn't _The_ Bad. 

_I do. I do need him._

_You only think you need him_ , The Bad said, and he had the oddest feeling that something in his body was shrugging, but not his actual body. As if The Bad had a physical form burrowed deep beneath his flesh, too deep to be seen, but nevertheless there. It made his skin crawl to think of. _But if he left, you would just attach yourself to the next nice person who walked by, who showed pity or compassion. You don't need him, you just want his kindness._

 _Just - just show me him. Stop talking_. 

_Fine. But when he leaves you, remember what I said_. 

He didn't respond, simply shutting his eyes in anticipation of the same visions he had experienced before, both the unintentional and intentional episodes. The Bad was simply trying to bait him, but he wouldn't take it this time. 

( _Suddenly he was sitting in a pew, not at work, back resting against it and he turned to smile at Emilia and she rolled her eyes back at him lovingly, gestured for him to pay attention to the pastor but he didn't care, he wasn't even really religious but Emilia liked to hear the sermons and he adored her so he came along_ ) 

An instant sense of wrong crept into him at the scene and he let out an anxious puff of air, not knowing what exactly was making him feel that way - 

( _And then he felt eyes on him, someone was staring directly at him so he turned, slowly, and there he was, in the back, standing beside Molly Strand, the lady that had sold him and Em their little two-bedroom house, dressed in a suit and looking absolutely serious, there was Henry Deaver staring straight at him and he swallowed, rubbed his mouth but then raised his hand in a subtle greeting, nodding, and Henry returned the gesture_ ) 

His breathing sped up, but he didn't know why, something about the vision was causing his shoulders to tense and his arms to tremble, but he didn't know what, just what exactly was causing this - 

( _He turned back around and bit his lip, nodding at Emilia again before returning his attention to the pastor, Aaron Appleton, if he remembered right, was speaking to the apathetic-appearing crowd, catching his words all while watching Henry out of the corner of his eye_ ) 

His breath caught. Something wasn't _right_ and he wanted out, wanted out of the vision immediately, but The Bad held tight, gripping his head with invisible fingers and forcing him to look as if it had some other motive - 

( _“In closing I think I'll leave you with a lesson our previous pastor here taught me,” Appleton began and he snuck another glance behind him, at the risk of Emilia smacking his arm, and then Henry wasn't in the pew anymore, he was loitering at the entrance, raising an eyebrow at him as if to say “You coming?” but Em was with him so he held up a finger to tell the lawyer to wait, turned back around to pay attention_ ) 

I’ll leave you with a lesson, a lesson that he felt like he already knew, one that had been etched into his brain, but he didn't know when or how, all he knew was that he wanted to look _away_ \- 

( _“...and whenever I had reason to doubt, that I alone was not help enough, he said to me, ‘God helps those who help themselves,’” and Dennis nodded, pretending to listen but really he was wondering just how distracting it would be if he got up and walked out, but then - intentionally or not - Em grabbed his hand and curled it around her own, smiling in that brilliant way she did and he forgot about everything else for a moment_ ) 

“Wait,” he hissed out to The Bad, something about the words roiling his stomach and making him feel unbearably nervous, like he was going to dry heave so he did, once, then twice, silently begging to not be sent back, to not have to see - 

( _“That man was Pastor Deaver, Matthew to most of you,” and the crowd shuffled uncomfortably because hey, wasn't the Deaver boy back in town the one who pushed him - no, he was kidnapped someone else pushed Matthew, right? No, I heard he really did push him, who knows what happened after that and Dennis was hardly listening because now his mind had wandered back to The Kid, wondering idly what he would think of church_ ) 

His mind had been trying to connect the dots and at first it had been satisfied that it was the church itself that had made him uncomfortable, because of Lacy. It didn't dig into him the way that name did, though, the name of the former pastor, Matthew Deaver. It set his teeth on edge and he ground them together, grimacing at the unpleasant feeling. 

_What's happening_? he asked The Bad, gripping the bed, knuckles white, as his head continued to swirl, making his vision loopy which didn't make sense because the vision was done - 

_Calm down. You're going to be fine, just relax,_ The Bad responded, ignoring his question. _Just think about the name. What are you thinking of?_

He wasn't thinking of anything, he didn’t want to, just focusing about the queasy pit in his stomach and the way his teeth were grinding together, trying not to get swept under, and he thought he heard shouting - 

Someone shouting, not at him, but at a woman - 

_Matthew_ , the pastor, the one he shouldn't even know the image of, was shouting at her and he plunged head first into the thought - 

~~~

“ - telling me what to do, woman? You have no idea what that...that thing is!” 

He was eight-years-old the first time his father called him a thing. The first time his father refused to call him by his name, refused to even label him as a boy. Like he was somehow less than that, or worse.

It was the first of many instances, and it was also the first time he wasn't supposed to hear it. 

His parents were arguing again, his mother with her mouth agape at her husband's words, and his father with curled fists and barely contained rage. They were arguing about him again, too, as had become usual. 

They did so more and more frequently, ever since his father had started to wake him up in the middle of the night to command him into the woods with no true purpose it seemed, other than to punish him for some perceived slight. 

But he knew what he had done wrong now. 

He was hiding behind the doorway to the kitchen, listening as they continued to argue heatedly inside. Both of them thought he was playing down the street with the Strand sisters, because that's what he had told them he would be doing. But as soon as he heard the voices starting to raise, he had paused and decided to listen in.

“That is not our child - perhaps it never has been! That is the Devil, here, in our home!” His father was almost shouting then, loud enough that anyone in the woods beyond their house would surely hear. 

The words brought a sinking feeling in his stomach and a warmth to his face, made his knees feel weak and his vision blurry. They made him feel ashamed. 

He didn't know if it was true or not, but what he did know that bad things happened to him. Sometimes little things, like when he was upset in class and everyone's pencils simultaneously broke, but sometimes it was much much bigger than that. Much worse. 

Like what happened to Puck. 

“Don't you dare say that, Matthew, don't you call my boy the Devil!” His mom usually didn't yell back, but she had been starting to lately. As if she were finally ready to stand up for herself and him. 

It made him nervous to hear it though. Sometimes he imagined hearing a harsh smacking sound as his father hit his mother, or worse. Sometimes when his heart was beating fast and his vision was going spotty with fear 

( _At what he didn't know, wasn't sure if he was scared of his father or FOR his father after what had happened to poor Puck_ ) 

he would imagine his father with the gun, pointing it at them. He imagined the feeling it would make when he was shot, the blood that would spurt out and the scream of his mother. 

( _He imagined himself with the gun occasionally, screaming at Matthew to leave and how happy his mother and him would be, how maybe then Sheriff Pangborn could come live with them_ ) 

“You have no idea what he's capable of,” his father had lowered his voice, now hissing his words so that he had to strain to hear them. “He could hurt you - he could hurt us, Ruth.” 

“He's just a _boy_ ,” the woman protested and he felt himself grip the doorframe harder, a harsh swallow forcing its way down his throat. “He hasn't done anything wrong.” 

“You believe that? You believe the lies he's told you?”

“More than I believe yours! Henry lies about- about having candy he hasn’t asked for, Matthew! Not about killing DOGS!” 

“I didn't kill the damn dog!” he shouted then, slamming a palm down on the counter, loud enough that it startled him back behind the entrance. “ _I_ didn't, all right? It was Henry!” 

His shame rose up at the words, seeming to knock the very breath out of his lungs. It wasn't the type of thing he had ever wanted to admit, or want anyone to know had happened, so to hear it in words made it feel too real. 

Somehow, without meaning to, he had killed Puck. It was the only logical conclusion he had been able to reach - how had the German Shepherd gone from healthy and alive to dead in a mere hour after he yelled and shooed her outside? 

She had been begging for food, something that usually didn't annoy him, but he had had a long 

( _night in the woods, staring up at the moon as Matthew attempted to exorcise him, swaying on his feet with exhaustion as the ritual dragged on and on, only stopping when his father finally cursed and spat at him, “Stupid, worthless boy, you can't be helped,” and then left him to trudge back home by himself_ ) 

night. Her high whimpers and the way she had nosed and scratched at his legs finally culminated in him grabbing her collar to lead her away, when a voice 

( _the same voice that sometimes whispered to him in the dead of night when he let his tears fall, either in bed or in the forest, promising that everything was going to work out and that he would be okay, if only he let it help him_ ) 

echoed its way to life, in his mind, one he had heard before. 

_Do you want her gone?_ It had asked and he paused, frowning to himself about it. The voice had never asked him a question like before, only if it could help. He never dignified it with a response. 

But now he did. He did want Puck gone, so he nodded once to himself, face burning at the idea of responding to a voice in his head. If anyone ever found out about it, they would think he was just as crazy as his father. 

Maybe he was. 

_Bring her outside, then_ , it had said, sounding pleased for actually having got a response from him. He paused for a second again, unsure of whether to do so. But then Puck whined once more 

( _he hated himself for the fact that he had been won over by a simple whine that he had heard countless other times, that it was this simple noise that pushed him over the edge and made him want her out of his sight_ ) 

and he felt his exhaustion seem to double. He didn't want to have to deal with her while he was eating, and putting her outside for a bit wasn't going to hurt her. Matthew kept her outside when Ruth wasn't home, so it wasn't as if it would be surprising to the dog. 

He nodded again and began to move towards the door, pulling Puck with him to the back entrance in the kitchen before propping it open and sending her out there. 

He hadn't known what was going to happen. If he had, he never would have agreed, he would have let Puck stay inside and beg as much as she wanted, He would have given her his food if only it meant she hadn't suffered how she had. 

Instead though, not knowing what would happen, he had let the door shut 

( _not slam because his father hated it when he did, would get red in the face and ask him what his problem was, why he had to aggravate him so much so now he was careful with it_ ) 

on Puck and only lingered for a moment to watch her cock her head at him before trotting off into the yard. 

He didn't like to think about how he had found her after that, lying cold and still in the yard and he ran over to her, heart pounding, hoping she was just sleeping, but - 

( _he shook her once, the gentle way he did whenever she was asleep, but she didn't react so he did it again, harder and harder until they were both shaking and he was crying, thick rolling sobs that hurt more than he thought they could because it was his fault wasn't it, he had wanted her gone_ ) 

she hadn't been. 

_Why are you crying?_ the voice in his head asked, as if it were genuinely puzzled. I did what you asked. 

“ -enry loved Puck, he never would have hurt her!” his mother shouted back, words defending him, words he didn't deserve. He swallowed hard and leaned his forehead on the wall in front of him, continuing to listen to the fight. 

“You didn't see him! You didn't see his _face_ when he grabbed me, you didn't see how guilty he looked, Ruth!” 

“So you're saying because you think Henry looked guilty over the death of his dog, that he's somehow, what, responsible for her death? The vet said it was natural causes, you're grasping at straws.” 

“I'm warning you, Ruth, he's not _normal_. He'll hurt us one of these days if we're not vigilant!” 

He wouldn't. He would never hurt his mother. 

( _He would hurt his father if he had to, scream and thrash and let the voice in his head kill Matthew if he thought he had to, but those thoughts were best kept just like that, thoughts_ ) 

“I'm done having this conversation. Just - stay away from my boy, Matthew! He doesn't deserve to be treated like this.” 

_Sounds like a bad one_ , the voice in his head said, comfort exuding from its tone. Fake comfort, he knew. It just wanted him to feel comfortable, to forgive it for what had happened to Puck. _Wanna talk about it?_

_No. Go away._

It did as he asked, slinking away and leaving an empty feeling in his head. He heard the kitchen door slam and bit his lip, trying to force himself to not cry. To not cry because he had somehow killed Puck, with only the voice in his head, a power he didn't understand and didn't know how to control - 

( _“You'll probably turn out crazy, too,” one of his classmates had explained to him, not out of cruelty or meanness but because he had asked. “It’s like, gonna get passed down. Genetics, right?” He had nodded and schooled his face into one of neutrality but as soon as he got home he locked his bedroom door and cried, sobbing harder when the voice came back and asked what was wrong_ ) 

He called the voice The Bad now. 

~~~

His breathing was coming out too fast he realised, too shallow, as if it wasn't fully making its way to his lungs, but he couldn't help it, he couldn't stop the blocked feeling, it was just there - 

_Calm down._

He couldn't, he couldn't calm down because he couldn't breathe - what had he just seen, what was that, who was Matthew who was Ruth who was Puck - 

An exhaustion he had never felt before settled over him quickly, forcing his breathing to slow and his lungs to open so he sucked in a deep breath of air and felt it whistle out softly. 

_Lay down, now._

He obeyed The Bad, barely able to keep his eyes open as his head hit the mattress, hard, listening as his breathing slowly evened out and his eyes rolled shut. 

_Breathe easy now, in and out._

He was going to sleep. 

~~~ 

_“ - he's just a boy - ”_

__

__

_Shame rose up in him at the words -_

_He's just a boy, Matthew!_

_Staring up at a full moon through the trees, swaying on his feet, he's just a boy -_

_Puck whined once, long and low as if warning him but he didn't listen, he never LISTENED -_

_HE'S JUST A BOY -_

_DEVIL -_

_SOUNDS LIKE A BAD ONE, A BAD ONE A BAD ONE A BAD ONE -_

_“You'll probably turn out crazy, too,” his classmate explained and he nodded, he was just a boy -_

_He called the voice The Bad now._

~~~ 

He awoke to a high-pitched sound before he realized it was himself making it, pushing through his lips before it turned into a scream and he sat straight up. 

( _He had had the vision again, the one he wasn't supposed to see, a snapshot of a life he couldn't explain but one he knew had happened, didn't know if it was his own or someone else's but who else would have The Bad in their head?_ ) 

Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong and The Bad had set it off, some overdue recovery of a memory, perhaps his own or perhaps not, that only served to confuse him more than he was already confused. 

_You just need to start remembering,_ The Bad said suddenly, not caring for the way he was gasping for air, the way his chest seemed to seize or the way his whole body shook. _You need to remember._

He was grasping for words, trying to coherently respond, but then his cell door screeched open, being thrown back by someone and he shrank until he was a ball up against the wall, arms around his knees, head down. There was too much going on for him to deal with any new guards, too much for him to hold The Bad back so he knew if they tried to hurt him they would end up the same as Adolf had. 

( _As Puck had as well_ ) 

“Go away,” he choked out as they came closer, eyes focused on his knees so that he didn't accidentally look up and see their life. He didn't want to see any more memories, ever. The one had been enough for his whole lifetime. 

“Hey, um, just - just breathe, I'm here now, I'm not going anywhere, all right?” He felt the person by the bed now, hands up as if they were going to touch him. To hurt or to try and help, he didn't know yet, but he had his guess. 

_Don't do it don't do it you'll get hurt, I don't wanna hurt anyone else please -_

“ -uddy, I’m not going anywhere this time, I'm not gonna leave you, just keep breathing - ” One hand settled on his shoulder and the other on his arm, rubbing them through the fabric of his clothing and he flinched away. 

“Puck,” he cried out, the only name he could think to say 

( _He thought of the dog’s round, dark eyes and wet nose, her mournful cry that he might have imagined, but it felt so real to him_ ) 

without feeling like he would scream or cry harder. The dog, the sweet German Shepard he had killed, with her warm, trusting eyes, it was stuck on a loop in his mind.

“W-what? What's Puck, buddy?” The voice sounded familiar now so he latched onto it, trying to fight through the haze and tangled mess of his own thoughts. 

He had felt like this before, he realized, after - 

( _“What are you?” Dennis said and Lacy said it and now he was almost certain Matthew had said it to him, either in person or to whoever's vision he had seen_ ) 

after his other panic attack. 

“De… Dennis?” he asked instead of answering the question, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but his breathing beginning to slow. The hands on his shoulder and arm ceased to comfort, but instead stayed still, squeezing him once before the young man responded. 

“Yes, yes, it’s me, buddy, it's Dennis. Just, um… just keep breathing slow, right? Where’s Em when we need her, she's a lot better at this...” 

He followed the directions, forcing his breathing slower and slower until he could stop the stuttering breaths in favor of bigger, slower gulps of air. His chest almost felt like it was on fire. 

“Feeling better?” Dennis asked and he nodded, not trusting his voice. 

He sat there in silence for a moment longer, allowing his heart to match up with his breathing and his tight chest to stop aching as intensely, before hazarding a response.

“How...how did you know?” he asked, still not looking at Dennis. He didn't want to see anything the guard might inadvertently show him, especially more of the church. 

( _The place, the Church of the Incarnation, was fine actually he knew, it was there for a good reason, it was the context of it and that old pastor, Matthew Deaver, that left an ache in his mouth and tension in his spine_ ) 

“Baby monitor. It's really good, huh?” Dennis said, moving one hand to his back and rubbing it gently. “Heard you thrashing about when I got in, and ran down here as soon as I could. Lucky me, I'm on patrol today anyways.” 

He nodded again, glancing at the side of the mattress where he had stuffed the baby monitor. Guess it really had done some good after all. 

“Good machine,” he said, smiling slightly when he heard Dennis laugh at his words. “Did a good job.” 

“It sure did. Hey, I have some good news, by the way.” And now he did look up, already knowing what the good news was but wanting to hear it from Dennis himself. 

“Got into contact with Henry. He came into the church when me and Em were there, and when we got out I went over and we talked a bit,” he started, carefully sitting down so he was still positioned behind him. The hand had halted on his back, but Dennis didn't pull it away. 

“I told him how he's blacklisted in here, but he's got a plan - he's gonna come along with the church group when they come in for bible study service!”

“How will I...see him?” he asked, because the thought of going to the prison chapel and seeing the new preacher, the possibility of a mention of that man, Matthew - it was too much to think about. Also, he was sure he wouldn’t be allowed to go. 

“We're still discussing that...but I'm thinking we'll get you outside? You won't be able to really talk, but he said all he needs is a picture, to see your face.” He nodded at Dennis’s words. They sat in silence again for a beat. 

“Hey...can I ask you something?” Dennis asked suddenly and now he did turn and look up, into his eyes and he saw the nervous expression on the young man's face. 

( _He was wondering what had caused the nightmare or what the nightmare had been on but those questions seemed to personal, so instead he was just going to ask a question he had already asked but had gotten no response_ ) 

“Yes,” he said, although he already knew what was going to be asked. 

“What's Puck?” 

Even though he had expected it the name still felt like it jammed his throat with a guilt and shame he wasn't even sure was his own. 

( _But even though it didn't make sense it had to be his own, it had to be because who else was The Bad a part of other than him?_ )

“A... dog's name.” he said quietly. Dennis shifted, eyebrows downturned at the answer he hadn't expected. 

“Oh...whose dog?” This was a question he wasn't sure the answer to, one he had a guess of, but it was a guess that didn't make any sense because how would his name be Henry and how would Matthew be his father, there was already a Henry Deaver and besides, the whispers at the church had filled him in on the fact that Matthew was dead - 

He answered the question the best he could:

“Henry's.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting with Henry stirs up both good, and bad potential memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late guys, its a long one though! A little disjointed but next chapter is gonna be where things really start to take a turn for more AU than canon :)

Dennis didn't ask him any more questions after Puck, instead opting to pat his back in relative silence until his breathing all but petered out into its normal pattern and his hands uncurled themselves from the fists they had been in.

“Saw the dog,” he explained when Dennis stood up, uneasy with the semi-truth but at least happy it wasn't a complete lie. He had seen the dog, and if Dennis took the words to mean he had seen from Henry's perspective, somehow… he couldn't help that. 

( _because it was from Henry's perspective at least a Henry, he wasn't really lying there it wasn't his fault which Henry Dennis might think he was talking about, right, because it wasn't his fault?_ ) 

Dennis nodded, wiping his mouth once and glancing around the cell, before fixing his gaze back on him. 

“I've got to get back on duty now, buddy,” he mumbled, a worried expression pasted onto his face. “But I - I don't want you to feel bad. Are you...how are you feeling?” 

“Better,” he said, now telling the full truth. His palms had little red crescent moons on them from where his nails bit into the skin and his eyes felt puffy, but mentally he felt calmer and clearer than before. “Thank you.” 

Dennis smiled at him, teeth poking out and fondness now replacing the worry. It made him look down, away from the display on the affection and love. He didn't deserve it. 

( _Didn't deserve it because he wasn't human wasn't a boy right, isn't that what Matthew had said, called him a thing and Lacy, Lacy had called him the Devil so look how the odds are stacked, kid, two against you_ ) 

“No problem,” Dennis said, opening the cell door and taking one last look at him on the bed. “Just, you know - use the monitor if anything else comes up.” He nodded, watching as the door closed and locked. Watching as Dennis walked away. 

He let out a huff, then winced when it reminded him of the whimper Puck let out in the vision. 

~~~

As soon as darkness had fallen again, The Bad started in on him. 

_You rely on Dennis for too much. Already._

He ignored it, simply curling up further onto his side and staring at the wall in front of him. The baby monitor peeked out from its hiding place between it and the mattress, reminding him of just why The Bad had decided to speak up. 

_No, I don't._

He wished he could listen to Dennis in turn, even just have the comfort of hearing his footsteps through it or shuffling papers. The cellblock’s other residents had gone quiet for the night, leaving him with only his own breathing and The Bad to occupy his mind. 

( _It reminded him of the cage too much, the way that the still silence fell once Lacy slammed the hatch, the way that he would breathe out louder than usual just to hear something, to keep the quiet at bay, the way it had been only his thoughts to respond to because The Bad hadn't been around at first just himself and he didn't know if that had been better or worse_ ) 

_You're thinking about him_ , The Bad said, sounding exasperated. It reminded him of a person again, the individual inflections and tone seeming more and more recognisable every day. As if it were growing or learning how to be human, developing its own self.

( _Learning from him perhaps, but that wouldn't make sense because he was barely a person himself, he didn't even know his real name and as far as a personality went, it was still up in the air if he originally had one that had gotten buried under survival instincts or if the survival instincts were all he had, how could The Bad possibly act more human than he could?_ ) 

_It's fine to think_ , he argued, but a part of him wanted to draw the monitor up close and whisper into it, to listen to Dennis respond and know if he wanted it so the young man would be down at his cell as soon as he could be. 

_You think of nothing else, though. No one else. You've merely traded Lacy for a kinder, younger person -_

“Don't say that,” he whispered, now aloud without even thinking. The words horrified him, the thought that anyone could ever compare the two people. Dennis would never treat him the way the former warden had. 

( _But for a mere second he entertained the notion, the image of Dennis locking his cell door, like Lacy would screw down the hatch, looking like he had no intention of unlocking it anytime soon, being drawn to the forefront of his mind before he knocked it down, shaking his head as if he could physically rid himself of it_ ) 

_That's not what I meant_ , The Bad sighed, the feeling of something shaking its head coming over him. The physical sensations that The Bad brought out left him dizzy, swallowing and blinking rapidly so he could try and focus on whatever it would say next. _I meant that you depended on Lacy for everything, for so long, and now you're trying to do the same with Dennis, at least emotionally._

He swallowed again, drawing his arms up to his face so he could rest his head on them. He didn't like the way that The Bad was beginning to make sense, the way that it was able to take his thoughts and analyze them, bring them back to him and explain what was wrong. 

He didn't like it because this was the same Bad that had given him a 

( _Memory?_ ) 

vision of someone, someone who had a voice in his voice as well and a father who thought he was the devil, the same Bad that had forced that memory on him. He had spent twenty-seven years with someone manipulating and twisting his views, making him complacent and frightened of hurts to come. 

He didn't want to let that happen again, because with The Bad being in his mind - it could create a prison of his own body. 

( _One where he obeyed The Bad no matter what it said because it made so much sense, who was he to think for himself, the same way the man, Lacy, had usually been so confident of who he was so who was he to fight that sort of holy justice?_ ) 

_Well, who should I depend on then?_

_Yourself. Or me, if you really need someone else._

No. No way was he going to depend on the voice in his head, the one berating him mere days after being released from his cage. 

“Stop talking,” he whispered aloud, quiet enough that Dennis wouldn’t be able to make them out through the baby monitor. “I'm done listening.” 

_You need to try to depend on yourself, at least sometimes. Dennis isn't going to be here forever. What happens when the baby comes, and you're still stuck in this prison? Will he wait for you?_

He didn't answer, but they both knew the truth. 

_No one but you is going to put you first. Remember tha -_

“Stop. Talking.” 

His mind went silent, The Bad retreating into the recesses of it. He could feel its presence still though, an ever increasing feeling of - of weight growing in the back of his head. 

The baby monitor crackled with static, making him shift back from it in surprise. He still wasn't completely used to the device being in the cell with him. 

“ _You say something, buddy?”_ Dennis said through the monitor, voice heavy with sleep. Another long shift, he could tell, taking hours the young man wasn't scheduled for so that he could provide for the soon-to-be increasing family. 

“I said good night,” he lied, biting the inside of cheek after. It didn't feel good to lie to Dennis. It felt wrong and dirty and like the lie was forever tied to him now, dragging him down down down. “Good night, Dennis.” 

“ _Goodnight, I'll see you soon. Soon as Henry gets in with the church.”_

“Okay.” 

There was a single moment of just noise from the monitor; a sigh from Dennis and the shuffling of what sounded like paper before it clicked off. 

He didn't want to dwell on it but the question had been asked so now it grew, big enough so that it felt like it filled up his whole head, pushing all other thoughts out - 

What happens when the baby comes, and you're still stuck in this prison? 

( _Will he wait for you?_ ) 

He didn't sleep. 

~~~

He didn't have to wait much longer for Henry Deaver to make his way into the prison. A simple, untroubled day 

( _The Bad had not spoken again after he told it to stop but it had given him enough to think about, about him depending on Dennis and although it was good advice the way it was given gave him a sour taste, the tone The Bad had used as if it knew what was best for him, the same tone that Lacy used sometimes)_

of resting and picking at the bread in the given meals 

( _the sandwich had mustard on it but he tried to wipe it off the best he could, cautiously taking a bite before his face screwed up and he let it drop, gagging on the sharp, salty taste, then glaring at Dennis when the young man let out a laugh at the story, although afterward he did smile at the memory of it_ ) 

and whispering softly into the baby monitor when he had the chance. 

A mere day, and Dennis showed up at his cell, looking nervous but not jumpy. One look was all it took and he knew, knew who was waiting for them outside, knew who he was about to see for the first time. 

( _When they find you ask for Henry Deaver but he didn't know why he was told to do so didn't know what the man's significance was but he asked anyways, asked because he had depended on Lacy so why not depend on his word one last time_ ) 

“We've got to do this fast, c'mon, he's waiting - ”

He didn't need to be told twice, instead walking out of the cell as soon as Dennis opened it. Surprisingly he heard the young man go in but didn't look to see what he was doing. Instead, he tried to concentrate on what he should say - or even if he should say anything. 

Would Henry be close enough to talk to, or would they be separated by the fence? What would they talk about? Who was Henry? 

( _Did he ever have a dog named Puck?_ ) 

It was only a moment before Dennis was out of the cell, shutting the door behind him as fast as he could without slamming it. 

The the young man put one hand on his arm and the other on his back before he could flinch away, steadily moving both of them away from his own cell and all the other cells, faster and faster until it felt like they were almost running - 

“Sorry, sorry, I know, we just - we don't have long, he can't get in twice -” 

They came up on a metal set of doors and Dennis let him go for only a moment to push one open. The problem that neither of them had thought through hit him then, right in the face and making him cringe, shutting his eyes tight and bringing an arm up to shield himself. 

( _Why hadn't they thought about the brightness and the sun, the fact that he hadn't been outside in twenty-seven years? How had that detail slipped through the cracks of excitement and hurry?_ ) 

He opened his mouth, to explain that he wasn't sure they should go through with the plan before Dennis took his arm and tugged him outside, fast enough he didn’t protest. 

He let out a gasp when he opened his eyes again, seeing the outside world for the first time in twenty-seven years and - 

It was white.

Bright, blinding white.

“Oh, crap, sorry. I didn't even think - the sun is pretty intense, right?” He heard Dennis apologize, then the heavy _slam_ of the door as it must have swung back into place. 

“Yes,” he whispered back, blinking as fast as he could, trying to see anything other than the white or, well, _brighter_ white. 

“Heh. Like Will Smith in the Salt Flats… not that you get that reference, huh, buddy?” the young man muttered, sounding from somewhere behind him. 

He didn’t. He could care less who Smith was or where the Flats were. A dizziness overtook him, not enough to send him groping for something to hold onto, but just enough so that his thoughts felt fuzzy. 

Something about the smell of the air made him think of another time, a time _before_ the cage, a time he shouldn't even know but he did anyways, like being pitched forward into another vision. 

( _Except visions were more violent, a tugging and pulling, him sometimes fighting back to get away but not this time, this time he was gently sliding into it because it wasn't The Bad making him think was it, it was himself_ ) 

It started with a breeze and the feeling of grass because - 

( _He was sitting in the grass watching his classmates kick a soccer ball around, wishing he could join in but knowing just how it would end if he did so instead he just tipped his head back and enjoyed the breeze_ ) 

“ -uddy? Can you take a few steps down?” Dennis asked, drawing him away from the unusual vision he was having. He blinked rapid-fire, bringing up one hand to cup his eyes from above before nodding. 

“Okay, okay, good. You want - you want me to hold your hand? Help you down a bit?” 

He nodded again, squinting down at the blurry shapes below, vision fuzzy from the sheer brightness of the sun. A faint humming sound filled his ears, the sound of 

( _a heat wave took over Castle Rock right when school opened back up, drenching the back of his neck in sweat so he blinked lazily in the summer afternoon, listening to the shouts of the other children as they continued their game_ ) 

the heat buzzing in the air. His hand reached out, blindly, before a smaller one found it and gripped it, another hand hovering at his back. He squinted harder, finally able to make out the stairs in front of him and put one foot down onto the next riser, listening to Dennis shuffle behind him, making sure he didn't fall. 

( _He turned when the girl sat down beside him, hair pulled up into a ponytail and he could see the beads of perspiration rolling down her face, he smiled at her and she smiled back, sitting cross-legged as they both sighed from the next breeze that blew their way, the grass itchy on bare skin_ ) 

Somehow they had made it down all the concrete steps, without stumbling, Dennis slightly behind him and no longer holding his hand, simply lingering by the stairs. He took one step forward, scanning the small alcove they were in, looking down at the grass - 

( _“My sister thinks I'm allergic to cut grass,” she said suddenly and he angled himself so that he was facing her, able to watch as she shook her hair free from the hair tie, watch as she combed through it with her fingers until she was satisfied in the way it looked_ ) 

“Look, _look_ , over there, buddy, it's him,” Dennis called out and he startled out of the vision, swinging his head up to look straight on, past the gleaming-hot chain link fence to a figure standing across from him. The man was behind a fence of his own, one hand half-raised in some sort of wave. 

( _“Why’s that?” he asked, cautiously petting the grass as if it would hurt him, and she giggled at the gesture, patting it with her own hand before continuing, “I get these itchy red bumps after I play in it, and she said her teacher told them that it's an allergy,” he rolled his eyes at the mention of Bridget, answering back, “Your sister is a know-it-all!”_ ) 

He took a step forward of his own, mind scrambling to determine just what was a vision and what was actually occurring. The two events felt like they were happening at the same time, somehow overlapped - in one instance he was a child talking to the girl sitting next to him and in the next he was outside in the recreational yard of Shawshank. 

“HEY!” 

He looked up at the shout, not doubt looking dazed and confused. Henry Deaver was waving one arm now in a semi-circle, glancing behind him to see if the correctional officer behind him would stop him. 

He took another step forward, almost pressed up to the chain link fence. That was him, yelling - the man in the church, the man whose name Lacy told him to ask for. 

( _The man who he might have seen a memory from but he wasn't sure because it seemed oddly familiar, not like the other visions he had had_ ) 

“Henry…” he mouthed the name to himself, wishing they were close enough so that he could ask the man about Puck. Could ask if the dog was his and if he said yes then - the Bad - 

“I can be your lawyer, if you want!” Henry yelled, the words startling him out of the fantasy. 

_Lawyer? Henry is a lawyer...why would Lacy want me to ask for him?_

“But you have to say it!”

He didn't need a lawyer, didn't know why anyone had ever thought he did but then his stomach twisted. Dennis thought he needed one, thought he knew what Henry was and if he needed a lawyer - 

Something bad was going to happen, wasn't it? Not his bad, not The Bad, but just plain bad. Something bad to him, bad enough he needed a _lawyer_ on his side. 

( _At the time he didn't question how he knew what a lawyer was but not a shower, the strange dots not connecting about how these two ideas were unusual to know what the more complex one was but not a shower_ ) 

He raised his own hand then, not sure if he was going to wave or gesture but then the man brought something out, aiming it at him and he heard Dennis take a few steps away. 

A flash, dim enough he was certain no normal human would be able to see it, emanated from the object. 

( _“A picture,” Dennis had said, “Henry needs a picture of you,”_ ) 

He stood stock still, not letting himself blink while Henry took several pictures, then turned with a wave to Dennis.

“Okay, he's got what he needs, buddy. Time to go back in,” the young man mumbled, taking his arm gently. He turned with Dennis, not fighting against him as they began to make their way up the stairs, back into Shawshank, only taking one more glance at the man. 

He was bent over the device, seeming to be studying the pictures he had taken. 

( _“She's a jerk,” the girl giggled and they laid on their backs, both squinting up at the bright sky, just watching the clouds roll by till he said softly, “But you're not a jerk, you know that, Molly?” and she was quiet for a moment before replying, “I know. You aren't, either, Henry.”_ ) 

Henry - him again, another memory or vision but this time… it didn't feel like it had been brought on by The Bad. It had merely been brought out by the breeze and the heat of the day, the same way the cell door reminded him of the cage. 

A memory.

~~~

Before long they were in front of his cell and he walked in, head still trying to wrap itself around the memory that had slipped in somehow, even though The Bad had been quiet for so long. 

He heard Dennis say something so he shrugged, shuffled into the cell and bit his lip as it closed behind him. The young man tried to engage him again but he couldn’t hear the words, instead the only sounds seeming to be his own thoughts.

( _Who was Henry, it had to be Henry Deaver, didn't it, but then why did he remember it before even seeing the man, that didn't make any sense nothing made sense anymore so maybe it would be better to simply not think about it?_ ) 

He looked up after the thought, expecting to see Dennis but instead found the door shut and locked and vacant out front. The young man must have realized that he was too overwhelmed to strike up any real form of conversation. 

That was okay. He always had the baby monitor to talk to him through, reassure him that nothing bad was going to happen. 

( _Reassure himself more like, that Dennis was still listening, still available for help and perhaps The Bad was right, he just traded Lacy for someone who actually listened to his wants and whims, didn't he? Too dependent_ ) 

He went to the bed, intent on doing just that when he noticed that something was… off. The mattress was pressed up too snug to the wall for the baby monitor to fit and the covers seemed more askew then the last time he had been in there. 

Someone had been in here, someone who was not him. Searching it maybe? For what, he wasn't sure. 

( _Just treating him like any other prisoner that's just what it was wasn't it, he didn't want to be treated that way though because the monitor, it would be taken wouldn't it?_ ) 

He crept forward to the bed, feeling his blood begin to rush in his ears at the thought and drew the blankets back, searching for the monitor. 

He scanned the whole side of the bed, desperate to catch that one little glimpse of white plastic but there were none because the baby monitor wasn't there. 

It wasn't in its place. 

He froze for just a moment, before suddenly pulling the thin mattress away from the wall, arms reaching and hands searching the crevice, searching for the baby monitor. 

It would be there, on the floor it had to be, had to have slipped and clattered onto the floor in the chaos of the day but his fingertips were grazing the floor and touching nothing but dust - 

He let out a groan of panic and yanked his arm back, spinning around the tiny cell in search of any other hiding places that he might have accidentally put it. 

( _Logically he knew there was nowhere else it could be, that somehow it was lost now, outside of the cell and probably never to be seen again the thought made his teeth want to chatter_ ) 

No luck, no luck anywhere because - 

( _Where is it where is it where is it?!_ )

The baby monitor… it was gone. 

~~~

He didn't mention the 

( _Theft? Loss? Destruction, even?_ ) 

displacement of the monitor to Dennis the next day, instead opting to unfold himself from his tucked knee position once the young man came and unlocked his cell door. 

“Change of routine, buddy, sorry,” he said, smiling at him apologetically when he shuffled out of the cell. He shrugged, still upset over the comfort that the monitor had given him being shattered by its disappearance. 

“You'll eat lunch in the cafeteria, okay? Just by yourself,” Dennis began, before correcting himself. “Well, with me and Boyd there. But no other prisoners.” The young man nodded to himself before taking a step away from the cell, only looking back to gesture him forward. 

“Okay,” he said, beginning to follow Dennis without question. He wasn't sure just where the cafeteria was, but it made him feel better once they turned towards 

( _His Room_ ) 

the infirmary - something familiar. He stopped for a moment in front of the door and Dennis let him, standing a bit away as he peered in before trailing away. 

It wasn't His Room anymore. No need to get hung up on that fact, even if he did wish the bed in the cell was comfortable in the same way that the one in the infirmary had been in. 

( _And then the memory of waking up, Dennis asking him about it and then fingers in his hair, dependent you're too dependent on him aren't you, can't even get through a bit of sleep without needing him close by_ ) 

He frowned at the new connection he made with the memory. What had once been pleasant became tainted by The Bad. 

“Something wrong?” Dennis asked him, noticing the frown. His words caught in the back of his throat, unsure of what he should say. 

( _Yes, the fact that I can't do anything for myself that's what's wrong, but how am I supposed to do that when I was helpless for twenty-seven years, why do I have to be independent all the sudden Dennis?_ ) 

He shook his head no. 

~~~

Just as promised, the cafeteria was near empty. Just him, Dennis and a few other people. No other prisoners. 

He sat himself in the middle of the large space, eyes trained onto his feet as the tray was placed in front of him by one of the kitchen staff. He was done with visions, unintended, intended, and forced. 

Dennis was hovering near the door with the other 

( _fuckslave_ ) 

guard, watching him as he looked down at the food in front of him. The urge to push it all out, put it on the table and just eat the bread came to him, but he didn’t act on it, let it pass. 

( _If he did waste the food he knew later Dennis would explain to him, “You don't need to do that, buddy, no one's gonna make you eat it,” and then hastily add, “But it's fine if you do! I just - just wanted you to know,” and in a way the words and gesture would mean his depending on the young man, again, knowing his mess would be cleaned up_ ) 

He wanted to depend on himself. He wanted to be able to raise something other than bread to his mouth and 

( _not puke it out onto the cage’s floor, the sickly sweet taste still coating his mouth so he did it again, filthying his clothes and making the man jump back_ ) 

taste it without flinching. The eyes of both of the guards, even with one being Dennis, made his skin crawl. Lacy had watched him eat with a similar expression, it felt like, one to see if he would somehow slip up and show - show what? Proof that the man had been right to cage him? 

He glanced back down at the meal in front of him. He didn't know if it was Dennis or just luck that led to the two slices of bread with some unidentifiable piece of meat between them, but whichever it was he was grateful. There were potato chips as well, something he had seen reoccurring often in most of the meals he and other inmates received. 

The fruit was in the smallest container, looking absolutely the same as it had years ago, sugary and syrupy sweet, making his mouth ache at even the thought of it -

( _Thinking it was such a treat, a treat in his little cage to be fed anything other than bread right, such a delight until he vomited it up and spent the ‘night’ curled up on his side, feeling it dry and cake onto his clothing_ ) 

He looked away, not sure if he would gag or even heave at the sight of it, but not willing to take his chances. 

_You gonna eat the bread?_ The Bad asked him, casually almost, but he didn't respond. Their conversation two nights ago still left him feeling confused and angry, frustrated that he was relying so much on Dennis and angry at The Bad for using the same tactics Lacy had used against him. 

( _Shame and guilt for such innocent things_ ) 

He was a grown man. He could rely on himself, 

( _But most grown men also don't spend twenty-seven years in cages not knowing who they are, not knowing if their perhaps memories are just that, memories, don't have voices in their heads now do they, or maybe they do, how about you ask Dennis and see what he says?_ ) 

right? 

He could eat more than bread. He could. And if he didn't like it, well - there was a tray to spit it onto. Anything. Just not the fruit, he didn't think he would be trying the fruit for a very long time. 

He reached for the sandwich instead, two slices of bread that he knew he could eat and the round center of thin meat in-between.

There was something new to try.

_Branching out, huh?_

He didn't respond again. The Bad didn't deserve his response after the verbal whipping he took a few nights ago. He didn't want to rely on anyone, but he didn't want to justify any other abusive behaviors from anyone, even just the voice in his head. 

( _If anyone knew what he was thinking surely they would throw him in the mad house because this type of beat-by-beat talk was full on bonkers wasn't it, the type of talk that landed people in padded cells except for the fact that he could probably escape from such a place couldn't he, with powers he didn't really understand?_ ) 

He took one last glance over at Dennis, whose back was semi-turned on him in order to fully listen to the other guard. 

( _His name was Boyd wasn't it, wasn't that what Dennis said?_ ) 

He could rely on himself, push himself to do things. The sandwich was lifted up, close enough so that he could smell it - if it had a smell. One more little sideways glance just to check -

_You really need that much validation? You need him to walk you through the steps of eating, buddy?_

He didn't need Dennis to do it for him. 

( _It was nice though wasn't it to not have to worry about it himself, he worried for twenty-seven long years why push it now because a voice in your fucking head has got you riled up?_ ) 

He bit into the sandwich, trying not to overthink any more. At first it wasn't so bad, just the normal, dull taste of the bread filling his mouth before something - something salty and heavy, much heavier than bread ever had been, invaded it in between chews, making his nose wrinkle. 

“Jesus, you see that, Zalewski? Fuckin’ kid just took a bite out of the sandwich - meat, bread, and everything. A miracle, right?” he heard the other guard, Boyd, say with a huff of laughter.

“Don't laugh at him, dude, he's - he's trying something new,” Dennis muttered back and he glanced up, still chewing the food to see the young man give him a grin. 

“Sorry, forgot I wasn't allowed to rag on him when you're around, Zalewski.” 

He tuned the conversation out, deciding to concentrate on getting the portion of sandwich down his throat and then, most importantly, taking another bite. 

He did just that, feeling something warm at the thought of future meals he could potentially eat. Hopefully they would taste better though - not that there was much hope for any meal in the prison. 

( _Dennis had told him about all the gross things he sometimes ate when Em didn't pack up the leftovers, mushy vegetables and meat that he didn't even know what animal came from, stories that made him grin at the telling and sometimes even a quiet breath of laughter_ ) 

“You tell Valerie yet?” he heard Dennis say to Boyd, sounding vaguely upset. If his thoughts hadn't been preoccupied and he hadn’t decided to shun The Bad, he might have wanted to see if he could tell why. See if perhaps he could look and see just what was wrong. 

“ _Fuck_ no, I didn't tell her about the money, she'd blow it on the mortgage.” 

_Chew, chew one more time don't try to just swallow it Jesus -_

_Shut up_ , he thought back, his first words to The Bad in several hours. 

“I'm buyin’ an Xbox, and a pound of weed.” Boyd finished after the thought. 

_So you can hear me_. He took another slow bite, frowning to himself when he started to inadvertently take The Bad’s advice and chew his food more thoroughly. But it was preferable than choking on it. 

“You gonna spend your bonus on a fuckin’ Fisher-Price Jumperoo?” 

_Are you even tasting your food? Why are you ignoring me - are you upset over what I said?_

He wondered at the words briefly before returning his focus to swallowing and scanning the room. There was a lot to look at in the cafeteria surprisingly, pictures framed and hung on almost every wall. 

There was one in particular that caught his eye and then his grip loosened almost immediately, letting the sandwich fall - 

“It's not a bonus, it's a _bribe_. So we don't talk.” 

He hadn't seen that face in so long, in weeks in fact, not even once he got out of the cage, hadn't really _thought_ about him in so long it felt like - 

He stood up, almost unconsciously, as if his body and mind were being operated by different people. 

“About what?” 

He shuffled over, closer to the picture so that he could see every last detail, even the sun glinting off of the cracked glass. 

Dale Lacy stared at him from the frame, _down_ at him with eyes that bored into him, wordlessly telling him just what he was because he didn't know, all he knew was that he wanted out of the cage - 

( _he wheezed for air because it felt like all of it had been drained from the cage, leaving him with these pants of desperation, but really he knew it was the panic gripping his lungs, forcing them flat so that the air couldn't get in but it didn't help to know if he couldn't STOP_ ) 

“HEY!” He heard Boyd yell, but it didn't register, as if the man was nowhere near him, merely speaking through a lost baby monitor perhaps, or through the opening of his tank. He took another step forward to - to -

( _To do what, beg for forgiveness? To ask what he was? To ask to go back down to the cage? All were possibilities in his mind because at the moment everything was crashing down for him because of those fucking eyes that always burnt into him, looking to hurt him_ ) 

“HEY! Mickey boy, sit the _fuck down_!” 

( _Don't call me that don't call me that his mind wailed, everything mixing together and a new scene he had never witnessed emerging, a group of kids surrounding him in a hallway, barring any escape, calling him crazy and a dog-killer, same tone don't CALL ME THAT!_ ) 

“Hey - hey, _I got it -_ ” He heard one of them rush over, but he couldn't stop looking, couldn't look away from Lacy and he didn't know why, just that he was caught spiraling down down down to the cage - 

“Hey, hey!” 

He heard a sound that was slowly growing familiar to him, he heard it from the guards when they indiscriminately beat the inmates or banged them on cell doors just for fun, the sound of a nightstick being withdrawn from its holster, that's what it was, but it didn't matter because he couldn't look away.

“Hey, sit down!” 

It pushed him back, landing solidly on his chest before retreating quickly, the presence of someone now almost right in front of him. Still, he didn't look away. 

( _What are you Mickey boy, a dog killer is that what? Satan-crazy dog killer dog killer I DIDN'T KILL PUCK THE BAD DID it all swirled around in his head making it hard to think of anything else_ ) 

“Sit _down._ ” He listened to the voice then, shoulders tensing and then relaxing at the sound of it even if it had a rough edge he hadn't heard before. 

_Dennis._

It was as if the name itself put some type of muzzle on his thoughts - instantly they dimmed and a drain opened up in his mind, ready to get rid of all the negative thoughts. His eyes were still trained on Lacy though, and his slightly disapproving face. 

( _It was as if the two forces were battling in his mind Lacy with a grip on one arm and Dennis on the other he just had to yank one way so he did he yanked hard and stumbled into the red haired man_ ) 

The stick pushed into his chest again, a barely-there pressure that made him instinctively look down at Dennis. 

He didn't look angry or upset, just surprised and fearful. Not of him, for him. With Boyd in the room, the young man wouldn't have a choice but to deal with him as if he were any other prisoner. 

( _He thought of the first introduction and a hand smoothing his hair, of grins and promises and a baby monitor that was missing, and when he looked back down at the baton and Dennis’s apprehensive eyes he knew this was the chance, the chance to prove he could depend on himself_ ) 

“You saw Henry,” he said lowly, letting some of the pressure ease off of the baton. His eyes drifted up, to look back at Lacy, but he nodded to let Dennis know he had heard. “He's gonna get you out of here, buddy, but you just - you need to help yourself right now, okay? Can you do that, for me?” 

He could. 

He nodded again, more confident this time as his heart began to settle down and his nerves 

( _replace the bad, awful memories of Lacy and his shouting voice with new, better ones of Dennis and his calm hands even if The Bad grumbled and griped about it, see I can take care of myself!_ ) 

steadied, his thoughts already clearing out the panic and despair he had felt at the first glance. 

“Just sit back down, calm down a bit,” Dennis said and then he did look away, finally breaking contact with the picture of Lacy for good. He watched the young man glance back at it, watched his face change from fear and bewilderment to anger. 

“Nice, deep breaths, yeah? Go do that, slow.” he nodded, not pausing to see Dennis’s expression or hear anything else he had to say. It was better to remain distant with the other guard and kitchen staff milling around, all curious about what had worked him up so bad. 

He sat back down, looking at the half-eaten sandwich on his tray. Nice deep breaths, going in and out, that's what he needed. 

He sucked a breath in, holding it in his lungs before letting it whistle out slowly. Dennis had trailed back to Boyd, saying something he couldn't quite make out through the distance. 

_Just when you try to be independent it comes crashing down. At least I'll always be here,_ The Bad commented. He stared down at the meal again. 

He wasn't hungry anymore. 

~~~

The walk back to his cell wasn't tense the way he had expected it to be, wasn't fraught with questions or confusion. 

Instead it was just a walk, Dennis striding ahead and fiddling with something on his belt, him loping behind. 

His cell door was opened without a word between them but when he crept in and turned to watch it be locked Dennis just stood there. He watched the young man raise one hand and wipe his mouth, the other still resting on his hip, covering something. 

“Was - was it Lacy?” Dennis asked finally. The unspoken words - _that made you freak out, made me have to half-threaten you_ \- they were kept just that. Unspoken. 

He nodded. No use in lying about something so obvious. 

“Shit. I wish… I wish I paid more attention, when he was alive. There must have been some kind of sign of what he was doing,” Dennis said, frustration at himself evident. It made him uncomfortable, to watch the young man search for anything he could have done better, even though there was none.

“No. There were no… signs. Don't say that.” 

“But- there must’ve been,” Dennis muttered, eyebrows creased at the idea of there being no hints of forewarning. “I was just - dumb or tired or not looking - ” 

“Stop. Take - take a deep breath,” he said, using the same words Dennis had used on him. “There were no signs because he… he thought he was normal.” 

Eyebrow raised, Dennis at looked at him for a moment, as if he was seeing something new in him for the first time 

( _Perhaps he was, the ability to care for someone else, something that he had never had the chance to express but now that he did he seized the moment, hungry to help_ ) 

before following the suggestions, drawing in one shaky breath before letting it out. His shoulders slumped, a frown replacing the tight line he had pulled his lips into. 

“I wish Henry would speed up,” Dennis admitted. “I know that he's being careful, but… you don't belong here. I don't belong here.” he looked up at him with some sort of desperation, as if he could now soothe the young man. 

“We don't,” he shrugged, not sure of what else he could say. “Henry is… helping me?” 

“Yes, he's getting you out of here, buddy. And then hopefully he's gonna help expose Shawshank. This place… it's evil.” 

( _He didn't want to tell Dennis that the evil was probably him or The Bad or maybe a mix of him simply invading the minds of inmates and correctional officers alike so he stayed silent_ ) 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Dennis asked then, shaking him out of the disquieting truth. 

Would he, truly? He didn't know what the next steps were, didn't even know when he would next see Dennis - the baby monitor was still gone. And the thought that he needed a lawyer, who apparently needed pictures of him 

( _proof he even existed, wasn't it_ ) 

was not a good one. But, even with all the struggles, he had eaten a sandwich today. He had been able to calm himself down, and yes it was with help from Dennis but he had sat himself down and breathed it out. Then he had helped Dennis breathe in turn. 

He thought he would be okay, if only for a night. 

“Yes,” he answered, allowing himself to smile, just slightly “You should get back to work. I'll… be okay.” 

“Okay. But I'm glad that - you helped yourself today. It didn't seem easy for you, by what I saw.” Dennis smiled back at him. He shrugged again, not conveying one way or the other. 

Dennis bit his lip then, seeming to think about the words before stepping out of the cell to close it. He turned, intent to simply sit on the bed and brood over the day when the door swung open again. 

“ _Shit,_ I almost forgot - I have something for you, buddy,” the young man said so he turned back to face him, eyes drawn to the one outstretched hand and - 

( _He thought he lost it or someone took it the idea that Dennis had taken it for some reason had never crossed his mind but here it was in all its glory yeah, that's what he would say all its glory_ ) 

“You need this back,” Dennis said and smiled, shaking the monitor in his hand. 

He stared at it, swallowing harshly once before his own hand came out to reach for it. Dennis pushed it into his fingers gently, cupping it so that it wouldn't drop.

“They searched your cell at lunch,” he explained, nodding towards the bed. “I took it when we went outside though, clipped it onto my belt like it was a mic. Didn't know just when they were gonna do it, but I heard some chatter about it.” 

“Thank you,” he whispered, cradling the monitor to his chest. Now he would be more than okay for the night, he would be better. Even if he didn't talk into it all night, just feeling the weight of the monitor back in his hands - it helped. 

( _Realistically he knew he shouldn't use it, that it would have actually been better if it actually had been taken or gone missing because then it would have forced him to deal with his issues instead of crying out for the young man to deal with them instead_ ) 

He could continue to work on depending on himself, but having the backup plan of Dennis, it was reassuring. 

“Of course, buddy. I'm here to help,” the young man said before stepping out of the cell. He locked it quickly, peering in once more as he sat down on the bed, still cradling the monitor. 

“So, you know - ” 

“Use the monitor if I feel bad.” he finished for Dennis. The young man grinned again, nodding towards him before walking away.

A lot of their impromptu meetings ended on the note of him feeling discouraged, with the young man having to speed away to attend to his actual duties. It made him squirm in some ways, to know he was taking up time in the young man's already busy work life. 

Dennis had a baby on the way, had a family to think about. He didn't need to deal with him as well, not in the ways he was. Arranging meetings with lawyers, calming him down at a moments notice. It wasn't fair to expect such things. 

_Will he wait -_

He would want to, but… he wasn't sure if Dennis should even bother. He was too much work, too much to undo and figure out and deal with, including The Bad and the unstable powers. 

_Wait for you -_

And want didn't translate into actually doing so. Perhaps the dependence would only continue as long as they were both in Shawshank, on opposite sides of the cage. 

Perhaps it wasn't bad to depend on Dennis for the time being, as long as he kept the question alive in his head, making sure he was being realistic. He didn't know exactly what his situation was, but if Henry was a lawyer and Dennis had a baby on the way, and he was still in Shawshank even under his circumstances - 

( _Will he wait for you?_ ) 

He wasn't sure he would.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick sits face to face with Henry, and something starts that can not be stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this being so late everyone, hopefully how long this chapter is can make up for that? ;-; 
> 
> First all, thanks so much to grayorca for helping me as betareader and charactizing and lines!! Chapter never would've gotten complete without you, thank you! <3 
> 
> Second of all, I just wanna apologize to everyone who has commented and I haven't responded to yet, I try to respond to everyone at least once but I feel bad when I don't get to you all again. Ill be trying harder from now on I promise!

The world knew about him the next day. 

Well, not the world, but when Dennis’s voice crackled through the baby monitor, out of breath and excited, he realized that something important had to have happened. 

“ _Buddy, buddy, are you - there, right now? Awake?_ ” 

He was. There was nowhere else for him to go, something he almost wanted to say, the snarkiness of the reply making his lips curl upward before he discarded it. Dennis was excited over something, and he wanted to know what. 

( _His mind drifted back to Emilia and the baby on the way, but then if that was it Dennis wouldn't be at work, would he? Would he? The idea that the young man wouldn't even be able to get away from his job for his newborn made him frown, but he knew it wasn't that because she was eight months pregnant right, not nine, he wouldn't be so excited if the baby was here now_ ) 

“I'm here,” he said, pulling the baby monitor up from its hiding place that it had been returned to before. “What -what's going on?” 

“ _I can't explain over this, I gotta - come to you or something, shit, I’ve got time, you’ve gotta hear this in person -_ ”

“Hear what? What’s happening, Dennis?” 

“ _Just sit tight for a second, I'm coming over right now._ ” Unlike their previous conversations, this one didn't end with Dennis fretting over him, didn't end with him having to reassure the young man that he was going to be okay. 

_Maybe he doesn't care anymore_ , The Bad drawled, but they both knew that wasn't true. 

It was because whatever information Dennis had to share, it was going to make him okay, wasn't it? 

~~~

Molly Strand told the world he was a kid locked in a tiger cage, and Dennis loved it. 

He was sitting on the bed, eyes wide as he listened to the young man pace and recount the tale, gesturing wide with his arms as he did so. 

He assumed Dennis forgot he could see the whole story in his eyes. Whenever they connected it was enough to see him, back at home while he was 

( _sitting on the couch, next to Emilia, leaning so far forward he could practically be on the carpet watching Molly Strand of all people talk about the poor kid, talk about the cage in the tank and Shawshank’s unsavory track record, ideas he always had had but could never convey himself, Emilia pat him on the back and tried to get him to sit back up but he couldn't, rendered frozen as Molly kept talking_ ) 

watching the live broadcast. 

He blinked, forcing himself to break the connection as Dennis continued to talk. That woman who talked about him on the television, though, the one who - 

“She called it a tiger cage, man, I couldn't fucking believe that.” Dennis stopped short, took a breath, forcing himself to slow down, or at least trying to. “She- she told everyone. I've got no idea how she knew, hell, maybe Henry told her, but…” 

“Molly,” he repeated softly to himself and the memory of a hot summer day came back to him, of the girl who had sat down on the grass next to him and talked. 

He wondered if she really was allergic to grass or not. 

( _He thought about asking Dennis to ask her but discarded the idea, the same way he did with questions for Henry about Puck_ ) 

“Yes, buddy, Molly Strand,” Dennis confirmed and then grinned at him. “The good news is they’re gonna let Henry see you now, finally let you two talk. I also heard that they're gonna try and offer you some crappy deal, so you don't sue. Screw that, man, take this whole place with you.”

He squinted.

Take down Shawshank?

And deprive Zalewski of his job? His healthcare?

It didn’t sound all that funny.

“But… what about you?” he asked. The smile wiped off of Dennis's face, leaving behind an open expression of surprise. Was he surprised that he wondered about him?

( _Did Dennis not realize just how much he meant to him?_ ) 

“Hey, I'll be fine,” the guard said eventually, managing to muster up another grin. “You just worry about yourself, right? You're so close to being out of here. Think of it - a whole world beyond these walls.” 

He knew the words should excite him, the idea of being free to see the world, free to explore and make his own place, but when he stopped and thought about it - 

( _He didn't know his own name or how anything ‘beyond the walls’ worked, didn't know the world or what Castle Rock was even like, all he knew was cold feet in the snow and struggling, the stuffy trunk of a car and rope, sobbing as the man forced him into the cage and those were his memories of the outside world weren't they, those were it_ ) 

They didn't.

They really didn’t.

~~~

There was no real warning for his meeting with Henry, no Dennis to escort him 

( _“They won't let me, but I'll be watching through the cameras, they've already told me that much, buddy,” the young man had said through the baby monitor when he asked the night before_ ) 

and no gentle hands hovering behind him. Two guards roused him from his cell and then dragged him by his arms through the cell block, a clamorous din rising and then falling as they moved further and further away.

Like dogs at the pound, all stirred up when one of their own was taken away.

Eventually they made it to the destination, a buzzer sounding before one guard let his arm go 

( _They might leave a bruise, their fingertips indented into his skin as a mark of who they are and what they did to him, a man he didn't even know the name of and he was so tired of people hurting him_ ) 

to open the door, the other letting go to shove him through it. The door slammed behind him, making his shoulders go up defensively at the noise before cautiously lowering. 

He looked around in delayed confusion at the new space, at the row of booths with - what was it, glass perhaps - between two seating areas. He looked back and forth until he spotted the only man across the glass dividers. 

Henry Deaver. 

( _When they find you ask for Henry Deaver, he can be your lawyer but you have to ask, he had a dog named Puck, he might hear The Bad, who knows, who knows, Henry knows_ ) 

He could tell he was supposed to sit across from Henry, with the webbed pane of glass between them. The empty chair implied as much, a metal folding chair placed directly across from him. 

The rest of the booths were chairless, perhaps in preparation for this meeting. 

The man looked at him expectantly, eyes focused solely on him as he made a cautious approach. 

He sat down, the cold metal of the chair biting into his skin through the thin uniform he wore. He didn't flinch, though, didn't allow anyone to register the uncomfortable feeling it caused him.

( _Just like with Lacy it would invite anyone to say something, would show him as vulnerable, show them how it made him cold and he didn't trust any of the guards to not hold anything against him_ ) 

“You're Deaver?” he asked. The man frowned at him, eyes narrowing at the words before he grabbed the device that sat at both of their sides, drilled and hung onto the wall next to the glass divider. Henry put it to his ear, eyebrows raising at him to do the same. 

He picked it up as well, slowly bringing the curved black plastic to his ear the same way Henry did and then - 

“Are you okay?” He jerked the phone away from his face, startled by the sudden amplified noise of the lawyer’s voice. 

( _Henry grinned at him with sad eyes but his mind - it was blank, no story behind them the way everyone else had one and The Bad prodded further, searching for it but there was simply nothing there, no story in sight, how bizarre, a book full of empty pages, how-_ ) 

“Physically?” Henry asked, as if he wasn't able to tell just what the man meant with his words, as if his years in the cage stripped him of his understanding. Maybe it had, but in a way that no one would understand, not even himself.

Without any memories to go by, he had no idea just what else could be missing. 

( _He had some memories though didn't he, a memory of a dog named Puck and a memory of a girl, Molly Strand, a hot summer day and an accidental death but were they his doing that was the real question_ ) 

He blinked, realizing that Henry wanted an answer so he nodded his head yes, trying to convey he was telling the truth by raising his eyebrows.

Yes, physically, he was okay.

Mentally, though? 

( _He was a mess, not knowing what was real and what was fake, grappling with powers he couldn't control, with a voice with a name, a voice he called The Bad_ ) 

That was debatable, to put it mildly. 

“Has anyone threatened you?”

He shook his head no. While not entirely true, there was no reason to get into specifics. The one man who had even tried to physically hurt him - he was dead of a rapidly-advancing cancer that shouldn't have been possible. 

He could defend himself. 

( _Or more, The Bad could defend him but best not to get into specifics there as well, which parts of him were The Bad and which weren't, even if it was him or not he had no idea_ ) 

“Hey, I want you to listen.” His eyes zeroed in on Henry at the words, automatically following the suggestion. 

“I'm your lawyer now, and your lawyer is telling you we have a _brand new_ strategy. From this moment, you want to keep saying my name, great, just don't tell anyone yours… even Dennis, okay?” 

He frowned at the words, not understanding. Tell anyone? He didn't even have a name he could remember, didn't even know which memories were his own and which could simply be visions from others. 

Henry mistook his confusion for that, about why he couldn't share his name, but he remained quiet as the suited man explained anyways. 

“If you've got no name, you've got no charge, no _crime_ , no story.” He pointed up the camera, quickly raising and lowering an eyebrow. 

( _He wanted to do the same to Henry because he knew who was behind the camera’s eye, knew it was Dennis who would be the first to know if he remembered his name but didn't say so, just remained silent and listened_ ) 

“As crazy as that may seem, that's the best thing you've got going for you so, I won't ask… and you don’t tell.”

( _Can't tell what you don't know, don't worry about that Henry_ ) 

“You understand?” the man asked when he gave no response. He nodded again, stiffly, unwilling to add his own information to the conversation - he barely knew who Henry was, even if he did ask for him. 

( _It wasn't even really him it was Lacy, one last command he followed because he was too dependent wasn't he, too dependent on the man who jailed him and hurt him_ ) 

_Ask him if it's begun_ , The Bad said suddenly, startling his face out of the impassive mask he put in place. _Don't question me, just ask._

His brows drew together.

_Okay?_

“Has it… begun?” He hesitated in saying the words, unsure of what they even meant, but hoping the man in front of them could come up with some meaning for them, an answer that eluded him. 

Henry stared at him, eyebrows furrowing at the question. His mouth opened, but then paused. 

_He doesn't know what you mean_ , he said to The Bad, but it remained quiet. 

“...Our new game plan starts now, okay?” the man said finally, seeming to guess that he was referring to the court process. After a beat of him staring at Henry, waiting for a reply from The Bad, the man repeated himself. “Okay?” 

He nodded, even if it was the wrong answer. Not his question, so he didn't care. 

“Okay… good. There's an offer on the table,” Henry raised his eyebrows at that, as if to convey the absurdity of the idea. “Prison wants to cap punitive damages in exchange for letting you walk. I say we employ the tried-and-true legal strategy of ‘go fuck yourself’.” 

( _he almost liked the vulgar way the words sounded, the angriness of them and the bald-faced rejection, a type of rage he never allowed himself to feel, only sadness and panic and a dull, quashed sort of anger nothing like the fire in those words_ ) 

“Sounds better in Latin,” Henry muttered to himself before continuing. “In about a week, a circuit court judge is gonna hear our _habeas_ request. There’ll be about a half an hour of witness testimony - ”

“Dennis?” he blurted out, realizing just what witness testimony would probably mean for the young man, the sacrifice he could make for him. 

( _Losing his job, that sort of sacrifice and it made him want to tear up in panic, no he didn't want to cause that didn't want any pain for Dennis_ ) 

“Ye - yes, Dennis has agreed to testify. After that you're gonna walk out of that courthouse a free man. The day after, we file for civil damages, and when that’s over, you’re gonna own the whole damn county.” 

Trying for some humor, Henry let out a chuckle then, gesturing through the glass to him with the phone. “Could buy out every other poor fool working in this place if you felt like it.”

( _Could buy them out could buy Dennis out take his job how's that for repayment? Thanks for helping me, you're out of a job now, hope you have some money saved up for that baby_ )

“No,” he said without thinking, leaning in closer to get his point across, making sure Henry could see his eyes. “Dennis… would have no job.” 

“You… you really like him, huh?” Henry asked, glancing up at the camera mounted in the corner of the room. 

( _“I'll be watching, buddy, don't worry about that. I'll be there,” Dennis promised, grinning at him and his nerves calmed down if even just a bit, enough so that he nodded_ ) 

He leaned back and shrugged, not entirely sure of how to respond. He didn't want the young guard to get in any trouble due to him and losing his job - that would be a vast amount of it, wouldn't it be? 

A question entered his head then, one he almost couldn't believe he forgot so he rushed in asking, fast so that Henry couldn't keep speaking about 

( _Dennis, he didn't want to discuss the guard further, put him in any more peril, didn't want him to testify_ ) 

the court proceedings, legal jargon he knew none of. 

“How many… years old are you?” he asked, head tilted downward so that he could look up at Henry. 

( _He wondered because if this was the right Henry then he wanted to know how far back that was, just when Puck had died and just when Matthew had started to call him a thing_ ) 

Henry stared at him before letting out a chuckle, sounding incredulous at the question. His hand curled around the phone a bit tighter at the response, but his face remained as blank as he could force it. 

_You sound like a child_ , The Bad said in his head, a brief startle that would have made anyone else jump. But not him, instead he remained calm and steady in his seat. _Asking how “many years old” he is, rather than just his age._

_I didn't - didn't mean to. That’s just how I thought of it._

“Thirty-nine.” Henry replied, and then the incredulity was gone, replaced by something solemn and righteous. 

( _Righteous for him and wasn't that the idea, the thought of someone taking on a fight for him just because they thought it was right, what a fantastic idea after twenty-seven years of being the fight itself, now he's got two people at least on his side, could he count Emilia Zalewski and… Molly Strand as well?_ ) 

Righteous for him, someone who's been called the Devil, someone who killed a dog named Puck - 

_Wait._

His eyes widened at the idea, the vague strings connecting together that if his memory of a dead dog wasn't his, but was Henry's - 

( _Because he didn't know what it meant if it was his, if he had a dog named Puck and a friend named Molly before, if his name was also Henry because then what? How did he proceed with that knowledge_ ) 

Did this man hear The Bad as well? 

_Don't ask_ , it warned but his lips were already moving, ahead of the words The Bad was saying, so he asked Henry, point blank - 

“Do you hear it now?” 

Any words the other man had been ready to say died, his mouth opening more and eyes going round. His own mouth opened as if he was mimicking Henry, mind filling in the unspoken words he imagined. 

( _He hears it too he hears The Bad doesn't he, this is Henry from the visions, Henry with Puck and with Molly it wasn't him, he's not going any more crazy than usual_ )

But then, Henry's mouth closed and his face turned from surprised to puzzled. His stomach dropped at seeing the change, and then fell even further when the man asked his final question before the guards rounded him out of the room - 

“Hear what?” 

~~~ 

The words wouldn't leave, buzzing in his head hours after his meeting with Henry, unrelenting and not allowing him to relax. 

_Hear what?_

It didn't make any sense, Henry not knowing what he was referring to, not knowing about The Bad or at least not having a clue for it. How could he look so confused, when The Bad had to have spoken to him as well? 

( _Because otherwise nothing made sense, the memories of Molly Strand and Puck, they weren't Henry's? But then whose could they be, who else would be Henry Deaver with Matthew and Ruth as his parents, how could there be another one who just happened to be friends with a girl named Molly?_ ) 

He tried to call for Dennis soon after being led back to his cell, whispering the young man's name into the monitor several times before giving up when he got no reply. 

Perhaps he was home with Emilia, or forgot his half of the baby monitor in his locker? Or maybe he just wasn't responding because of something else. If that was so, he wasn’t about to try and see. Let Dennis relax.

Either way, he gave up soon and simply sat down by his bed, between it and the steel toilet, trying to will away the remaining words of Henry Deaver from his head. 

Words that made no sense. _Memories_ that made no sense. 

( _He didn't know why he expected to catch a break now of all times after twenty-seven years of only questions, didn't know why he expected any of them to be answered but he did, he really did_ ) 

A loud bang drew him out of his thoughts, scaring his spine stiff and his eyes up as he realized the bang was his cell door being opened. 

The 

( _Bad_ ) 

man stepped in, Deputy Warden Joshua Reeves, the one who brought him to this very cell and tried to kill him, get rid of him through proxy - that bad man. 

Hands in his pockets, Reeves looked around the cell, eyebrows shooting up and down at the graffitied walls before saying: “It’s downright roomy in here now that you’ve got the place to yourself, huh?”

He didn't respond, instead trying to push himself up closer to the wall, but found there was no more space left. 

“Oh, your, um, your lawyer friend filed some papers in district court. We'll… see where that goes.” Reeves crept closer, but kept the cell door open. His eyes were drawn to it, the light that spilled into his cell from the open door. 

( _He felt just the briefest flash of a memory, a dark room and he looked out the window, swallowing hard when he saw the sun had set, then timidly looked to the house from his shed, saw the man looking back and he ducked back in, out of sight_ )

“See, we're the biggest employer in the county,” Reeves said, and now there was an unpleasant little smile on his face, as if he had a secret he couldn't wait to share. “We got a lot of friends, too.” 

( _He only cared about one employee but didn't mention it, didn't want this man to get any ideas in his mind_ ) 

“It's really too bad you didn't take our deal.” The suited man was by his bed now, close enough to the baby monitor's hiding spot that his mouth went dry, all moisture evaporating at the thought of what could happen to Dennis if it was discovered.

_Don’t look at it. He’ll see where it is if you do._

( _He didn't care about himself because that - he could defend himself, already did it once in this very cell - but Dennis-_ )

He glanced up.

“Mind if I sit?” Without giving him time to respond, Reeves made a show of dusting off the mattress before making himself comfortable. He clasped his hands together and smiled again - a small, slightly-suave, self-assured smile. The monitor’s nubby antenna went unnoticed. “You know, we're, uh, a subsidiary of a big multinational. Private security, combat solutions…” 

He forced his eyes to trail over to Reeves’ face instead of the monitor, forced himself to look into his eyes and see 

( _Eight months in the sandbox that's what he was gonna say, yes, a ‘tale’ from the Middle East, something to try and scare him, a laughable attempt_ )

the story he was about to tell. 

“I spent eight months in the sandbox after they pulled Saddam out of his hole,” Reeves began, the beginnings of yet another cagey smirk on his face as he did so. The smile had looked less demeaning. “We were on cleanup duty - all the old timers who weren't ready to see Saddam go.” 

Then, seemingly without provocation, the deputy warden shifted forward, closing the gap, crouching down between him and the door.

Like it was a perfectly natural move to make.

“We had this, uh, one guy, Republican Guard, no name, just like you. Everybody thought he was mute.” 

( _He wasn't mute, though, Dennis could attest to that and now Henry, too, he was fine with talking but he didn't have a name, at least one he could truly remember just a handful of fragmented memories which might be his but might also be someone else’s_ ) 

“So what we did is…” Reeves leaned in even closer, close enough so that there was no hope of ignoring him. “We fed him his own teeth.” 

( _And he could see it in Reeves’ eyes, the man wasn't lying but the dark image didn't scare him, couldn't scare him after what he went through and what he could do, as soon as this man even reached for his mouth he would be dead wouldn't he, no chance of any of his teeth sliding down his throat_ ) 

“ _Real_ slow, Clean Plate Club. And by the time we got to his molars…” Reeves trailed off, making sure he was looking at him, making sure he understood the significance of the story. He scoffed: “He had a name. List of other names, too.”

 _He has a name_ , The Bad whispered to him, sharp, rapid-fire words filling his mind until it was all he could understand and hear and he did, be did understand what he had to do, he had to say the words. 

( _He has a name, he has a name hehasanamehehasaname He Has A NAME_ ) 

And he did, reciting them like reading lines off a cue card:

“He has a name.” 

Reeves stopped his own story, instead tilting his head at the sentence, whispering one word of his own. 

“...What?” 

_Say it_ , The Bad said. _You know the words, speak them._

( _He did know the words, ones he wasn't sure he was thinking for himself or if The Bad was supplying them but they filled his head to the brim, so loud that he needed them out, needed them out out out immediately so he spoke_ ) 

“He has a name written on him, which no one knows except himself...” Reeves backed up, confusion giving way to panic as he continued to speak, mind filling in blanks and voice steadily becoming stronger, louder. 

“He's clothed…” He pushed himself up from the wall until he was at full height, the man doing the same. He towered over Reeves, though, spine straight and for _once_ , he was the one looking down with cold eyes, for once he was the one reciting biblical poetry to the scared person in front of him.

For once, he had control.

He took one step forward. Reeves took one back. 

“With a robe, dipped in _blood_. And his name is called The Word of God.” He was gaining by then, approaching the man even with the words dying out, mind finally empty, leaving nothing but a hollowness where his thoughts usually resided.

Only one all-important thought remained. 

( _Get him out, out of the cage he's not allowed in here get him out now_ ) 

“Back up,” Reeves warned him, but his voice trembled, wavering on the words. They were almost out of the cell then, almost across the threshold and out into the light and he didn't stop walking.

“Hey, I said, back the _fuck_ up - ” The warnings fell on deaf ears as he prowled forward, the man bumping his shoulder on the side of the doorframe in his haste to retreat, until they were out, out into the light and out of the cage. 

The roar that was always in place in the cell block grew louder, almost deafening when he stepped out, as if the other prisoners - they could sense the danger, as if they were _excited_ by it. 

( _Dogs baying for blood_ ) 

“Hey - hey! Lieutenant!” He stopped then at the words, eyes boring into Reeves as the man frantically called out for someone, for help, nervous eyes flickering back and forth. 

_We could make him eat his own teeth if we wanted._

He didn't want that, though, no - all he wanted was for the man to leave him alone to his cell, for the man to understand that he was not someone to be bullied into submission anymore. 

( _Those days were over, of pleading in a cage, of silent, morose acceptance of his situation, days of being dependent on anyone he wanted them over and done with but mostly he just wanted to sit on the bed in the cell without thinking about pulled teeth_ ) 

“Lieutenant!” 

He grabbed the cell door as Reeves fell silent. Without taking his eyes off the man, he stepped back, dragging it behind him before it shut with the same buzzing _clang_ as it made when it opened. The roar outside fell back to its normal levels. 

_No blood today, boys._

He went to go sit on his bed, thoughts of his own flooding back in, as if a dam broke in his mind. A dam put up by The Bad. A sick feeling overcame him at the thoughts of what he did, the power he held over Reeves without a second thought. 

He climbed onto the bed, and tucked his legs so he could rest his head on them. 

At least the monitor had gone unnoticed.

~~~

It didn't feel good when he scared Reeves. It felt 

( _Awful and dirty, like he had overpowered the man but then continued instead of stopping, dominating him and making him feel small simply because he could, a tactic Lacy had used against him - that Matthew had seemed to use against him? Henry? And it felt awful to do the same himself, become that person even if Reeves has just tried to do the same to him_ ) 

wrong, as if he had hurt the man, beaten him into a pulp, when it truth all he was guilty of was making Reeves back out of his cell and then closing the door. 

_We beat him, all right_ , The Bad said, and he realized it sounded happy. No, actually - sounded more than happy. It sounded overjoyed. _We didn't even have to touch him, he just gave up all on his own._

( _We, The Bad kept saying the ‘we’ as if they were partners, as if they had planned to frighten the man, together, when really it had been some survival technique buried inside of him that reemerged when Reeves threatened him with the story of making a man eat his own teeth, of how he could make him eat his own teeth, and the shield came up to protect himself_ ) 

The sick feeling returned to his stomach and grumbled dangerously, threatening to overtake him.

He might have needed to do what he did, but -

“I didn't _want_ to,” he whispered, leaning his head against the wall. His legs were still tucked up to his chest, long enough for him to rest his head on them. 

He wondered why Dennis hadn't said anything through the baby monitor after the Reeves incident. Did he not hear it? Did the young man think he had everything under control? 

( _Did he not care?_ ) 

The baby monitor was still tucked in its corner, snug against the mattress. He hesitated for a moment before unfolding himself to grab it, yanking it from its spot and then returning to his own by the door of the cell. 

He stared down at it for a moment, running a thumb over one rounded corner. He wasn't sure if he should disturb Dennis - the young man had been eerily radio silent for a day or so, since before his talk with Henry.

( _He wondered why, wondered just what happened to have this occur or perhaps the young man was tired of him tired of his demands and dependence, he knew he would be_ )

“Dennis?” he whispered into the device. There was no answer for a moment, only a moment of quiet before the monitor crackled in his hand. 

“ _What?_ ” Dennis sighed through it. He bit his lip in uncertainty at the tone of his voice, the exasperation in it, wondering if he should even bother continuing. Something obviously had happened, something to make the young man like this, but he didn't know what. 

“I - are you… okay?” 

“ _Fine, buddy, just fine._ ” Another moment of silence before Dennis spoke again. “ _Listen, you did a good job the other day, speaking with Henry. I'm proud of you, you know that?_ ” 

“Thanks…” he said, still unsure of where the conversation would be heading. “But you don't sound - ”

“ _Something… happened, with Henry. I can explain later. For now, can you give me some time? ...an hour, to just - decompress?_ ” 

“De-compress,” he echoed. He wasn't sure what the word meant, but he understood the general meaning behind it - Dennis needed time to himself, something he wasn't getting anymore, was he? 

( _At home he spent his time hovering over Emilia even when she told him to relax, worrying about her and the baby he still had yet to name, even as she reassures him she's fine and then he comes to work, worries about him, that poor kid in the cell, worries about his future and what's going to happen, in a constant state of worry_ ) 

“ _Yeah, buddy, decompress… is that okay with you? Or do you need me to stay?_ ” The worry was clear in Dennis's voice then.

It made him balk. Causing the guard to worry more was the last thing he wanted.

“No!” he said quickly, before forcing his volume down. “No, I want you to - to decompress.”

“ _Thank you, buddy._ ” 

There was another moment of silence on both ends as he continued to hold the device, not sure if that was Dennis's way of ending their conversation or if there was more to come.

After a few heartbeats he had his answer, the young man's voice coming through once again:

“ _...Here, I’ve got an idea. Hold on._ ”

He did so silently, running his thumb back over the baby monitor as he waited. After a moment a new burst of static hissed, but he was familiar enough with the sound then to not be startled by it.

The next few words to pipe through did.

“ _\- shot the sheriff-_ ”

He blinked. He heard a hollow clack. Then more static, a tuning needle being slid back and forth, seeking a station.

He froze. The slice of music he had heard

( _The words reminded him of the slam of the trunk and he flinched, mind thinking back to the man who left him, the only one who saw his in-progress abduction, the lid lifted and his badge that said he was Sheriff Pangborn_ )

was that jarring.

Dennis muttered something under his breath, sounding none too pleased with the snippet of song: “ _Jokers at that station, real fuckin’ funny..._ ”

He frowned. He didn’t yet see how this was supposed to help them both ‘decompress’.

A new song came on, one that made him tilt his head in surprise because of how familiar it sounded.

( _It made him think of Molly Strand for a moment, which confused him because he had no idea why it did so_ ) 

“ _Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother you're stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive -_ ” 

“ _Caught it a bit late, but... I think you'll still like some- music,” Dennis cut in over it, like his voice was between the two devices. “A little reward, huh? For meeting with Henry._ ” 

“Yes,” he whispered back, because the song was a reward, a privilege, somehow making him feel calmer than before, making his mouth tilt up slightly. And it was nothing like the oversweet fruit. “I… like it.”

“ _That's good! One of my favorites - first song I think I listened to in my car with Emilia, a couple years ago. By the end, we were… singing along to it._ ”

He could hear the smile in Dennis's voice when he talked about his wife, to confide this intimate memory because he thought it safe to do so. It sounded good, like he was finally able to shake his worries for just a few moments, and it felt even better to think he was safe to share the story with.

“ _Cheesy, maybe, but it always makes me think of her._ ” 

“ _-el the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’ and we're stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive -_ ” 

“ _I'll keep it on for now. Just… we can listen to some tunes for a bit. To decompress._ ” 

To his surprise, he felt as if he could decompress to the song, the same way he was sure Dennis would be able to. He could try.

“ _Ah ha ha ha, stayin’ alive -_ ” 

“Okay.” 

“ _Okay, sounds good,_ ” Dennis said, already sounding far happier than he did at the beginning of their conversation. “ _Bye, buddy._ ” 

He didn't answer back, instead stuffing the baby monitor back in its hiding place and scooting next to it on the bed, face tilted down so he could hear the music better. 

“ _Ah ha ha ha, stayin’ allliveee!_ ” 

The song played on. The tempo was very catchy, catchy enough that he started to hum along to it, not realising he was doing so. He wouldn't have been able to explain how he already knew the tune if he did. 

“ _Life goin’ nowhere, somebody help me, somebody help me, yeah -_ ” 

He let his eyes close. The song continued to play, sound tinny and scratchy through the baby monitor, but he didn't mind, simply happy to be able to listen to it. All was calm for a minute or two longer before - 

“ _Life goin’ nowhere, somebody help me -_ ”

“Yo!” 

The word startled him out of the quiet music and his humming, enough that he scrambled off of the bed and onto the floor in a brief moment of panic. It startled him so he paid no mind to feeling irritated at the interruption.

Had he really tuned in that deep he forgot where he -

“Mickey boy, you in there?” 

( _Kids in a hallway taunting him, beginning to close in_ ) 

He blinked through the sudden intrusion, creeping closer to the cell door until he was by the side of it, back near the wall and head tilted out to see who it was. 

The other guard who was with Dennis when they found him, that's who, the one who yelled at him in the cafeteria, the one with Valerie, that's who - 

Christopher Boyd, head cocked one way, stared back down at him from outside the cell.

Not that he needed an introduction to be a pain.

“So. You went outside the other day, Mickey boy?” Boyd grinned at him, but not the way Dennis ever did. This grin looked mean, mocking, like he was smiling because the guard knew that he was cornered, there was no way he could get away. 

( _And that name - Mickey boy - it dredged something up for him a memory of being trapped in a hallway as a child, defensively hugging a textbook to his chest and putting his head down as other kids, too many kids, surrounded him_ ) 

“Don't call me that,” he whispered, one hand gripping at the slot in his door. 

“Holy fuck, you do speak! Jesus, you sound awful. Secondhand smoking for a couple years will do that to you, huh?”

He frowned.

“Nah, my mistake. Had to have been more than a couple, right? I mean, Lacy was no spring chicken. How long _must_ have he kept you around for ‘company’?”

The way Boyd said company - it made him think of another term the guard used for him, one that also made him tense and nervous. 

( _“plus one fuckslave in an oil tank,” that's what he had said wasn't it_ ) 

It made his skin crawl, knowing there was some unsavory insinuation there that he didn't quite get, but meant something bad, something you didn't say as casually as Boyd _did_ but he did anyways because - because - 

( _they were bullies, that's what they were, the kids who surrounded him in the hallway, forcing his feet to stop and eyes to the floor, shoulders hunched up as they screeched at him, names and insults and accusations about Puck, his poor dead dog Puck something about -_ ) 

“What, you not gonna answer me now? Talk about selective hearing.”

“Stop it,” he whispered, withdrawing his hand in an effort to end the conversation. He didn’t want to talk any more about ideas he couldn't understand, didn't want to get drawn into the vision of children taunting him about 

( _“You hear voices, Deaver?” one of them shouted, louder than the rest and his eyes flashed up to meet them, face burning red at the accusation that was right for once, “You fucking freak, you tortured your dog, right?”_ ) 

Puck and The Bad, ideas they shouldn't have even known about but somehow they did. 

“What was that? Stop? Pft. Like you’re busy doin’ a whole hell of a lot else - besides looking like somethin’ out of _The Walking Dead_ , only prettier.”

He tried to shrink further into the corner of the cell, but his back hit the wall, cold concrete on his spine that wouldn’t let him move, made him freeze and curl his hands into fists, nails biting into the already scabbed skin of his palms. 

_Calm down, seriously, you're working yourself into a panic -_

He couldn't because now his breathing had already sped up, fast enough it felt like no air was coming through, like it was blocked in his throat and even The Bad wouldn't be able to force it out. 

( _He never tried to defend himself any more just let them taunt him, the circle of children squeezing in on him tighter, enough so that he couldn't find a single way out, taunt him about accusations they shouldn't know about, about voices in his head, The Bad -_ ) 

“St-ohpp,” he stuttered out, not knowing how else to respond to the insults from Boyd, reality and vision layering themselves atop one another, the same way they had when Dennis brought him outside. “Stop- talking - ”

“Sure. Like you didn’t stop talking to ol’ Reevsie? What was his _special_ occasion? He your new Lacy, on the side?”

“Stop!” he shouted, much louder than his previous whispers, volume he didn’t expect to come out of his mouth, but it did anyways. “Stop - talking! I don't want to _listen_!” 

_Jesus Christ, Henry -_

( _The name drop from The Bad didn’t click at the moment, didn’t mean anything or reveal anything to him but when he looked back at the startled way it had said the words, an admission it hadn't meant to let slip but it did, a realization he couldn't comprehend at the moment but would later_ ) 

Boyd didn’t relent: “Oh, silly me, I forgot. First rule about fuck club: you do not talk about fuck club.”

( _Do not talk about it, we don't talk don't talk just listen Henry, listen to it The Voice of God do you hear it you fucking freak you hear it, you HEAR IT?_ ) 

He didn't hear it, didn't hear whatever he was supposed to stop asking his name wasn't Henry was it was it who was he? 

“Stop stop stopstopstop - ” he chanted without really knowing he was speaking, just letting the stream out of his mouth and out of his mind before - 

_CALM DOWN - right now! Stop! Getting panicked isn't going to help us, you're only egging him on, stop and take a deep breath._

He followed the order out of desperation, sucking in a deep breath as he cut himself off, ears ringing in the moment of silence that followed.

“...Too much?”

He nodded, not caring whether Boyd could see him or not. His fingers shakily unfurled themselves from the fists they had been in, skin stinging as he did so. His nails, they needed to be cut again -

 _See, much better. Take another breath, okay?_

He did so, breathing in easier this time.

Boyd scoffed in the face of his recovery of the here and now.

“Shit, well… it’s a little less unnervin’ than just watchin’ you sit there, staring off into the middle distance like you’re winding up for some speech you’re never gonna give.”

He glared sullenly at the words, too worn out and tired to muster up the energy for a proper response. He crept closer to the opening though, if only to see the light that was streaming into his cell - a welcome change from the darkness of his corner. 

_If only he knew, right?_

“At least when you’re pitchin’ a fuss you don’t sound that different from the rest of the kooks in this joint. Get what I’m sayin’? You’re too damn _quiet._ ”

( _He wasn't too quiet he just didn't have anything to say or scream about at least until someone pushed him, then he could scream like the rest of them, the good old boys all lined up in their own cages_ ) 

“You're too loud,” he said, words slipping out without thinking. He peered up at Boyd through the slot, certain his face was red, flushed and angry looking from the meltdown he almost spiraled into. “You talk too much.”

“Yeah? And? Where does that put Zalewski on such a scale? He can’t be ditchin’ work as much as he is just to come meditate with likes of you.”

“He - ” He swallowed, unsure of what to say, or if he should even continue to talk to Boyd. “He's nice. And not ditching work. You are.”

“Then I’ll assume you don’t know what ‘ditching’ means when _this_ is where you work. Can we agree on that much?”

_He’s drawing you out, keeping you talking. …Do you want him to shut up?_

( _Did he? Did he want Puck to be quiet, did he want her gone? …Did he?_ ) 

He nodded to The Bad, hesitant and unsure, but hoping that when it meant shut up that's all it meant. 

_Just - I don't want him to talk. That's all._

_I'll shut him up._ The Bad promised, but he felt as if it didn't take his words into consideration, that all it wanted was his permission and everything else was - empty and hollow. Unsaid words for it to ignore. 

As it saw fit.

Just like how it had happened to… Puck?

“Kid? You zone out again, or what?”

He shook himself out of the thoughts, now wishing that there was a way to travel back in time 

( _“There is,” a tiny voice whispered, words he couldn't understand because what did it mean there was a way?_ ) 

just to a few seconds ago and stop himself from impulsively agreeing to let The Bad do what it wanted. 

“Leave me alone,” he whispered, even as Boyd crouched down and tilted his head to look at him through the slot. 

( _And he saw his life again, another war-like fight between him and Valerie and he rolled his eyes at her, saying something he would regret the next day and now, now he might even regret the way he panicked Nick, but for now it was just interesting to see what his reactions were_ ) 

Nick - they called him Nick? Why? 

_Nick at Nite, fucking Nick Cage_ , The Bad said dryly, picking up on more thoughts from Boyd - references to things he did not possess knowledge of. _Little joke on you, kid._

“Ah, shit, I got you all grumpy now?” Boyd rolled his eyes at the face he must have pulled. “Aw, don't look at me like that, dude.”

Was he glaring again?

It was pretty difficult not to.

“Here.” The surly guard stuck his hand out then, in a fist that would have made him wary if he didn't just hold it there, as if expecting something. 

“C'mon, dude, I was just givin’ you shit,” Boyd complained. “It's a fuckin’ fist bump. Make a fist, and touch it to mine. It ain't rocket science.” 

_Do it._

He made a fist, holding it up in the light to look at his own hand. Boyd's own fist shook with impatience, but he wasn't sure because is this what The Bad meant, is this what would shut him up? 

( _But what did that mean?_ ) 

_Do it, before I do it for you_ , it commanded. 

Automatically, as if the tone itself was enough to push him into fulfilling the action he did so, raising his fist higher and bumping it against Boyd's. 

There was a feeling of something, some type of once-repressed energy from him draining out of his fist, making him feel instantly tired, eyes drooping as their fists remained connected. 

But Boyd - his face went vacant, blank, a far cry from the impatience and annoyance that covered it seconds earlier, a wiped-clean slate that made his own eyes widen again at seeing it.

The light in the man’s eyes went out - as if he was a puppet, to be controlled.

( _No_ )

 _Get the gun_ , The Bad said but it wasn't talking to him was it, was talking to Boyd, no no - commanding him. _Get the gun, shoot the guards. All of them, as many as you can._

The man's mouth moved wordlessly along to the commands, echoing them perfectly. Their fists were still connected, but when he tried to draw it back in fear he felt stuck, paralyzed with his fist raised and touching Boyd's. 

_Wait, stop -_

His own thoughts were cut off by Boyd suddenly drawing his fist back, face still without emotion as he did so, then standing up, almost robotic.

_Do it now. Go, fast._

“Wait - ” he whispered to the man, but he didn't listen, instead following the orders of The Bad the same way the mouse did when it killed itself. 

He remained frozen for a moment longer before drawing his own fist back, staring at it in confusion and shock before a new emotion flooded him the same way calm did when he listened to the music Dennis played, panic pure and icy shooting into him because the guns, there was at least one nearby, kept in the surveillance room - 

Where Dennis was. 

The Bad, it told Boyd to shoot all the guards and Dennis was a guard wasn't he, a guard with a target now on his head unless he could save him, the same way the young man saved him from the cage. 

But this time, he could save Dennis by caging him.

The reverse - it made sense, when so much else didn’t.

 _Don't you dare_ , The Bad said to him, seeming to realize what he was about to do. _There's a way this must happen, and I'm sorry but he is merely a casualty -_

He stopped listening before it could finish its sentence, instead shooting up and racing over to the baby monitor's hiding place.

The Bad was never sorry, and meant it.

Quiet music was still trickling out of the monitor from where it was wedged, but this time he made no attempt to make any of the words out. 

He yanked the monitor out of its place with shaking hands, then took a single moment to let his head clear before speaking. 

“Dennis… D-Dennis, are you there?” His breathing already began to speed up, fast puffs going in and out, gaining speed the more the clock ticked on. 

After trying for some harrowing, nail biting seconds, he got an answer, the music fading out to be replaced by the young man's voice. 

“ _What, buddy? I'm - I've kinda got something to deal with still,_ ” Dennis sighed, his tone weary - something that any other time would have made him feel guilty and awful but instead the panic inside him only grew because he could see Boyd and he was - 

( _He was going to get a gun, that's right, shoot all the motherfucking guards in this God forsaken prison because - because - because he didn't know why but there was a voice that told him to, deep and commanding and he would obey it_ ) 

“You need to get _here_ , right now - ” he gasped, barely able to choke his words out past the fast gulps of air going in and out. “Right now, right _now_ , Dennis! Right NOW!” 

“ _Wha - what's wrong, buddy? Is this about the plea deal? Did you find out about that?_ ” Dennis sighed again, not seeming to pick up on just how panicked he was becoming. “ _It sucks, I know. But, you'll be out and I guess I'll get to keep my job -_ ”

“DENNIS!” he shouted into the baby monitor, startling the other man quiet. 

( _He was walking faster, picking up speed and soon he would reach the surveillance room, would ignore Zalewski when he questioned if there was a problem, would ignore him as he got a gun, would ignore his cries as he shot him, leaving the young man to bleed out -_ ) 

_You can't interfere with this,_ The Bad hissed but he ignored it, continuing to plead with the young man. 

“You need to - get here, now! Leave the surveillance room!” 

“ _How did you know I'm in - okay, okay, but right now? What's going on?_ ” Dennis sounded more concerned, seeming to finally pick up on the panic in his voice, but hesitant to leave. 

( _Shot once in the throat of all places, Dennis would place a hand over it as if that would stop the bleeding, one hand on it and the other reaching for something, anything, grabbing the baby name book as his other hand slipped_ ) 

_Stop this now, you can't interfere -_

“You'll die, you'll _die_ , Dennis, please, trust me - please, please, think about Emilia, think about- about - ”

_STOP THIS -_

( _His brothers, yes he saw them before in the young man's eyes, two younger ones that's right both had left Castle Rock, moving far away but Dennis stuck around even when the parents died like a good boy, keeping the line alive_ ) 

“About your brothers!” he added desperately, squeezing the baby monitor so tight he was almost afraid it would break. 

“ _J-Joey and Trevor? How do you - what do you mean I'll die? If I - don't come to your cell right now?_ ” 

“Yes, yes, just leave right now, come here _right now_ , or you'll die and I can't - ”

( _I can't live with the fact that it would be my fault, my impulsive decision leaving you dead and Emilia a widow and a baby without a father and two grieving little brothers, and me, and me_ ) 

“ _Okay, okay, I'm - I'm coming,_ ” Dennis sounded shaky and slightly panicked, the emotions coming through the baby monitor. “ _Can you tell me what's happening?_ ” 

_You've ruined it, ruined the natural order I TOLD you not to get close and look what you've done now!_

“No,” he whispered, breath catching in his throat as he _felt_ the time running out for Dennis to escape. “No, I can't, just come here now.” 

“ _Okay, I'm coming - I'll be there soon -_ ” The words cut off unexpectedly and he slumped back down, tossing the baby monitor aside to turn his full attention to the door because - 

( _Boyd's gonna get a gun, he's gonna get a gun, his whole world's come undone, dog days just begun_ ) 

Or, they would begin shortly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell me and grayorca have a thing for rock classics?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shooting concludes with uncertainty, fear, and a surprise visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for pushing me to finish this chapter, grayorca, if not I would totally have gotten sucked into just _Schism_ and our other stories. :3

This time, it was different.

This time, he didn't beg or go quietly.

Usually he asked The Bad to show him visions, or he was forced into them. But this time was different, this time he didn't ask for permission or anything like that, didn't beg to go back, this time he was the one to open his eyes and look.

( _Jumping up with the cadence of his heart increasing, the baby monitor tossed aside the because the poor kid was really worried for some reason, a reason he couldn't say but he needed to get to the cell, turning around to do just that_ )

_What are you doing?! You can't use me like this -_

He drowned the words out with his own chant in his head, forcing himself to open his eyes because -

( _He was shaky getting out of the chair, hands trembling when Boyd came in, blank face, making his blood freeze and come rushing back simultaneously, didn't the kid say something about dying if he didn't leave right now, and where were the guns again, eh? Right in here?_ )

“Dennis, Dennis, go - ” he hadn't realized he was speaking, but didn't stop himself when he did, almost as if the words could urge the man on. “Go, _go,_ go - ”

_Stop this right NOW, you're not the one who gets to decide -_

( _“...Boyd? What - what’re you doing?” He bit his lip, one hand on the doorknob as he watched Boyd stalk his way over to the safebox, every part of his body freezing as the man started to punch the code in, because why would he need a gun? There was no alarm going, besides the one in his head - “Chris, man, the fuck are you doing?”_ )

“NO! I AM!” he screamed, the other prisoners around him baying alongside, their own wordless howls. All it took was one howl to rile up the whole pack, it seemed. “ _I_ AM DECIDING, SHUT UP!”

The Bad went quiet, one part in his head finally shutting down as everything else kicked into overdrive, because soon the shots would begin to ring out, oh yes they would -

( _And the gun came out without an answer from Boyd, this is the part where he turns and runs, opening the door without a thought, even as the man turned around and aimed_ )

“No, no, nonono, Dennis, run, run - ” He could barely hear himself over the din of the cellblock, roaring to new frenetic heights as everyone began to scream, feeding off of his energy, weren't they?

( _And just when he was getting out the door, he heard it - the ratcheting snap of a magazine sliding home, a bullet being chambered, safety off - then a deafening BANG -_ )

“ _No_ , no, nonono, _no_ \- ” he wailed as the vision cut out, the signal phasing in and out, trying to desperately cling to it because, because -

( _Because there was a group of kids blocking the hallway, wouldn't let him through, couldn’t see past_ )

“Not now, not now, Dennis - I need to see, d-don't do this now, not _now_ -”

( _He didn't want to deal with this right now, but it was happening anyways, whispering voices beginning to get louder, bold enough to confront him -_ )

Loud as the cellblock, only going quiet for a moment as a gunshot rang out, another one, before reaching its fever pitch, as he reached his, right into another vision with another voice -

Screaming at him -

~~~

“ - fucking freak, you tortured your dog, right?”

He didn't know how the rumor spread, or even where it had started. All he knew was that everyone, everyone who heard it, believed it.

( _He wasn't exaggerating when he thought that because it was teachers and adults and other children, faces all going blank when they saw who he was, no doubt remembering his poor old dog Puck_ )

He explained it to himself one day, going through the details, combing through them to try and find any truth

( _Because there was some truth to it, truth he wished wasn't there but it was because Puck was dead wasn't she and it was his fault_ )

in the words.

“Henry Deaver hears voices,” he whispered one night, the third-person description making him feel even more detached from himself, less responsible. “A voice told him to hurt his dog, so he tortured it. His dad had to kill the dog, to put it out of its misery. He's a freak.”

 _Don't beat yourself up, kid_ , The Bad tried to soothe him, words full of false sympathy. It didn't care about him, didn't want to truly help like he had once thought. _Beginner's mistake._

“Freak,” he whispered again with more urgency. “Nothing, but a fucking - ”

“Freak!” one of them crowed, the ringleader of the group. The children squeezed around him tighter, forcing him out of his thoughts and closer to the wall, where the lockers were.

He retreated, knowing he was being cornered, but before he could slip away, hands grabbed him, slammed him shoulder first into -

~~~

The heavy slam of his cell door opening dragged him out of the vision, tossing him back into the real world with dizzying clarity.

Another gunshot rang out, closer than before.

( _How much time has past? Who's opening the cell door, is Dennis - okay?! Is it Dennis?_ )

“Dennis?” he gasped without looking, blinded by the distortion of the vision and noise, legs shaking as he stood up, backing away from the door.

“S-stay where you are. Stay down.”

He looked up, relaxing and tensing at the same time when he realized it was Dennis - that was Dennis turning around to hastily close the cell door, Dennis swallowing harshly and wincing, because Dennis was bleeding.

_Wait._

Dennis was bleeding, from his arm if he could see correctly, shaky as he felt, a bullet hole in his arm from Boyd.

He disobeyed the order, rushing to the guard’s side as quickly as he could. “You're h-hurt?! Where, how bad is it? Can you - can you feel it, Dennis?”

“Quiet, please!” Rounding on him, the shorter man raised the hand he could still lift, trying to push him away. “Stay _down_ , buddy. He’s got the same keys I do. Wait until- until he’s by.”

Another BANG echoed about the block.

( _He was sorry for what he was about to do, sure he would be startling Dennis, but this was one thing he wasn't going to listen to the man on, he waited in that room way too long, who knows what else Boyd would do?_ )

He let out a high keening sound before making his decision, grabbing Dennis as gently as he could and dragging him away from the door, into the corner of the cell - hidden by him in front.

“He won't try and get you i-if I'm in front, _you_ stay back!”

Whatever protest Dennis had in mind devolved into a wincing yelp. Handled gently or not, his once-blue sleeve was streaked with spreading red trails, front and back, from just above the elbow. Vivid crimson streamed out from under his cuff to drip off his fingers.

Moved away from the door, expression pinched with fear and pain, he grasped the wound and finally managed a retort: “Wh-what the hell? Is this what you had in mind by- by warning me?”

“You were supposed to leave faster.” He sniffed, blinking back whatever moisture was threatening to leave his eyes. Crying and getting disoriented would only worsen the situation in the cell - for once, he was the one who would have to try and remain level-headed, to try and fix Dennis up. “You didn't leave fast enough - I need to - to try and get something for your arm now, you weren't meant to get shot, I'm so _sorry_ \- ”

He cut himself off with a shuddering breath, turning away from Dennis to rip the thin sheet off his mattress. He knew that at the very least, a wound needed pressure on it. Neither of them could press onto Dennis's arm for long without something forcing them to move - having something tied around it would work better.

“Can I? Tie this on you, Dennis? If we don't, you could - could _die_ , of blood loss, I don't want that to happen, I need you, Dennis, you can't die - ”

Ever mindful of the chaos outside, the alarms wailing, the shouting, the occasional gunshot followed by agonized screams - Dennis didn’t immediately heed his tone.

Much less acknowledge the very open admission of dependence.

For the moment, pain and stress were keeping the guard’s focus elsewhere. He glanced down, paling visibly at the sight of so much blood, his own and no one else’s, and abruptly leaned back against the graffitied wall. Dizziness had to be setting in.

“ _Fuck_ , I just- okay, yes, yes, tie it off, if you can. Who knows when this shitstorm’s gonna blow over?”

His nerves shut him up, not allowing any true words but some vague mumbles of syllables past his lips. He carefully tore the sheet

( _Incredibly easy as it was, he wasn't sure what the standard quality of sheets and other items were on the other side but he was certain it was much much higher than something that could be torn by him_ )

into a much smaller section, looping it around Dennis's arm before freezing. His mind went blank for a moment, fingers trembling as he looked down at all the blood on the blue fabric.

( _He's seen this amount of blood and more, before, in a forest and he bent over her, teeth chattering without any words to back it up, not knowing what to say as an insistent hand tugged at his own, both of them spattered with the blood_ )

He blinked, before shaking the vision aside. He could try to decode just what everything meant later, but for now - he had Dennis to worry about.

He forced the sheet into a knot, taking a moment to breathe as another shot rang out, fingers shaking faster, only slowing down when the noise quieted, leaving the screams and roars in its place. He pulled it, slow and gentle as he could, until the once-white bed sheet was soaked, and was pressing firmly onto the wound.

“Okay, okay, okay, you should be okay now, Dennis, I think I did okay,” he babbled, crowding the man further into the corner. “Just tell me if you feel sleepy, we don't want that to happen, you're gonna - you can't die, don't worry, I won't let it happen.”

Pressed as far into the corner as he could get, Dennis cradled his elbow under his chest. “Don’t- worry yourself, buddy. I can deal with this much.” Despite the sweat on his face, the guard tried for a smile. “Em’s gonna have a cow, once she hears. I’d be more worried about that than this little- papercut.”

“Not a papercut.” He shook his head, glancing back at the door before he stepped more fully in front of Dennis, making sure he was entirely blocked. “You got _shot_. You just - relax, take a moment. I'll protect you.”

He heard the man - his _friend_ \- give a short, wry laugh. “Sure. How’s that for ironic?”

( _And it was pretty fucking ironic, him protecting anyone, but if there was one time he ever could do so it was now, so he would take the opportunity and run with it_ )

“I can protect you,” he insisted. “He won't risk it, not with me. Just - focus on yourself, please.”

“That’s assuming he’s even- agh, _crap,_ ow.” Caving to the discomfort, Dennis hissed and rode out a spike of pain before asking, “How did you know? Was it- the same way you knew, before, about the baby? How’d you know Boyd was about to- fly off the handle?

( _And there was one thing he wouldn't tell the whole truth to, sorry, Dennis but he didn't need to risk it any further, strain their relationship even more than it already had been_ )

“Like before,” he lied, something in his throat making the words hard to force out. “And I - I knew, you were in the room, with the guns. He would've killed you first.”

Whether it was the shock or blood loss, Dennis went a shade paler. His eyes flicked toward the closed door, ears pricked to the sounds of screams and blaring alarms. Whatever he thought to say probably felt very trivial compared to the madness he had been spared from.

Mostly spared from, anyway. The reek of coppery blood soon permeated the cell.

Crowded as he was, unable to go anywhere else, the guard hazarded another joke: “It’s okay. This uniform needed a wash anyway.”

“You'll get a new one,” he mumbled, eyes flickering back and forth from outside of the cell and Dennis. “Don't worry, you won't have to wear this one anymore. He'll come by soon, and then - then it will be over.”

_Jesus, that's not nice looking, though. Least it's better than before, right?_

He shook his head at the words, head cocked to the side as if he could hear them better at an angle. What was it talking about, before?

( _The mini vision he had, with the woman in the forest, dark red blood coating her abdomen as he shook at the gruesome sight, unsure of what to do_ )

“What do you - mean?” he mumbled, eyes squinted as he waited for a reply. “Better than when?”

 _Before_ , it replied, more to itself than him.

And it was about as vague an answer as he could expect.

Another shot rang out. Dennis flinched and cursed under his breath, keys jangling as he flattened himself against the wall.

“I-It's okay,” he hurried the words out of his mouth, one hand raising up as if to comfort him before falling back down. “It'll be okay, Dennis, he won't hurt you again.”

( _Using almost the same exact wordage that Dennis did to calm him down, telling the man that it would be okay, that whatever happened wouldn't happen again because he was here, he could stop it, but could he, could he stop anything the way Dennis could?_ )

“Yeah. Fuckin’ suits are taking their sweet time calling the cavalry, though.” Dennis grumbled. The makeshift bandage was already soaked through, but he kept his good hand firmly clamped over the wound. “I saw the look at his face. There won’t be any negotiating. They’ll put him down soon as look at him.”

( _And it would be his fault, wouldn't it, because Boyd wouldn't have done this is he hadn't raised his fist to touch it to his, wouldn't have allowed The Bad to take over, infect Boyd and use him like a puppet, all his fault these people were dying, wasn't it?_ )

“Soon enough,” he soothed, then taking one hand to gently pat Dennis's good arm, right before his shoulder so there was no way he would be hurting the young man. “Just a - a couple more minutes, I'm sure.”

( _Soon as he gets to the Warden's room, they'll take him out, right in front of, in front of - someone he knew, someone from the yard, saying he could be his lawyer, was Henry here?_ )

Dennis didn’t balk or shrink away, as if he somehow thought the person he was hiding out with was to blame for any of this. But he frowned all the same, averting his eyes in a rare moment of hesitation. There were still some visible doubts there.

Doubts not undeserved.

“I guess testifying woulda been delayed, huh?”

He nodded his head dazedly, looking out once more before he saw it, just the slightest glimpse of what was going to happen, and who was making him see this, himself or The Bad?

( _Turning the corner with methodical speed, because the voice told him to, made him do it, no room for independent thought, there was a guard in a cell up here, one he was supposed to take care of because the prisoner in there doesn't ever listen, makes his own trouble_ )

There was no room to be uncertain anymore, no time to talk and think of a reason or a way to get out of the mess they were in, a mess he partly caused, because Boyd was coming just around the corner -

The next gunshot was much closer, so close his teeth clenched at the loudness of the sound, loud enough he turned back to Dennis, whatever he was going to say dying on his lips.

( _And he said he was going to protect him, right? Even if it was dangerous, because that's what Dennis did for him, right?_ )

Without thinking he grabbed Dennis, back turned to the door as Boyd got even closer, wrapping his arms around the young man so he was tucked against the corner and his body.

Their first hug, and in this set of circumstances.

Unsurprisingly, he was met with resistance.

“-are you _doing_ , buddy? I don’t- ” Dennis only stopped struggling at hearing keys - not his own - jingling. Just outside the door. Nothing to stop Boyd from unlocking it, using what few bullets he had left to just end them, here and now.

He held his breath in the moment, eyes shut as tight as he could make them, arms trembling around Dennis as the man stopped outside of the cell door. Contemplating a way to get to Dennis, with him in the way.

( _And there would be no way he would allow that, if The Bad wanted to get to Dennis he would have to go through him as well, something he was sure was unexpected_ )

There was a beat of relative quiet in the cell block, the only sound a few inmates yelling and the screams of hit CO's. Boyd lingered outside of their cell for a moment more, before -

He heard footsteps trailing away, no uncertainty in them, no moves to come back and try again, nothing but the blank, single-minded obedience of the man.

( _Were they really safe though, in this cell? Were they safe anywhere, anymore, now that The Bad could do this?_ )

He didn't let go, though, just continued to grip to Dennis as if their lives still depended on it, legs feeling weak and trembly.

Hearing the sound move off, Dennis didn’t struggle, or snap to be let go. He kept still, eyes darting but unblinking, waiting for more of a sign that said the coast was clear. Protesting might just draw the shooter’s attention back to them.

Might. But it was better not to risk it, regardless.

There was another gunshot, much further off, where he instinctively knew Henry Deaver was, waiting to talk to the warden, a guard being shot right in front of him -

( _And soon Boyd would be dead as well, Henry knocked out of his chair by the noise, gripping at his ears in shock, everyone in shock at what happened, in shock at Dennis still being alive_ )

It would be over in a mere minute, or two. Just enough time for Dennis to get out of the cell, so he could get his wound looked at.

( _And it was selfish, but he didn't want to let go, just wanted to continue keeping him safe, even though the danger had passed, because if the others found him and Dennis in the cell he knew it wouldn't end well for him, they would automatically assume he meant to hurt the young man_ )

He let go after another moment after a final squeeze, stumbling away from him to press himself up against the opposite wall.

“You need to - leave - trust me, he'll be dead soon, you need help, you need to leave, now - ”

With his hand still clamped over the wound, Dennis blinked back to reality. Standing there, pressed into the corner, a vague shock settled over his face. “Leave? And what, run for the front door? EMTs are already on site. Once things are clear, they’ll sweep every wing, every cell. You… sorry, I got blood on your shirt.”

He let out a disoriented sound at the idea that Dennis was even apologizing for that. Blood on his shirt was nothing, he had dealt with much worse beforehand, in the cage. Even just having clothes to change into so much more frequently was nice.

“No, don't - apologize, please. B-but, if they find you in the cell, I could - I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make it about me, but - ”

( _But he had to, if he wanted to not face as much scrutiny, if he wanted Dennis to not have any suspicions tied to him, if he wanted them to get through everything with the least amount of damage as possible_ )

Steeling himself against the dizziness, Dennis pushed off the wall. “No, no, I get it, sorry. Just- do like I said before: stay down and stay quiet. I… just remembered the door doesn’t open from inside.” With a sound that was half laugh, half groan, he leaned back against the wall. “Christ. How’s that for a kick in the balls?”

How was that, huh? How did it feel, to have a plan dashed in the wind because neither of them thought this through in fear?

( _At first it felt like despair, choking him as he imagined the cell being opened, guns pointed at him and batons raining down, but then a moment of clarity when he looked at Dennis watching the door with fear, another time he looked at something in fear, something he had done_ )

“...I can open it.”

And he was sure he could, because wasn't this part of that vision he had before, the one he made Dennis see? Dead guards, him strolling through the halls with blood on his shirt?

( _Dennis's blood on his shirt?_ )

He could open it, it would open for him - he was sure of that. He was meant to escape now, leave everything behind and run.

( _Making life Hell for Castle Rock, that's what The Bad would do, try to empty him out and make him the way Boyd had, no more flashes of Henry, what could be his life, this plan had been in the making for decades hadn't it, since he was a child?_ )

That wasn't what he was about to do, though.

How much scrutiny would that put Dennis under? How long until they fired him, charged him with helping him escape, even if it wasn't true?

He would open the door all right, but it wouldn't be him leaving the cell.

No doubt thinking of this once-problem in their recent past, Dennis scoffed. “So you’re telekinetic, too?”

Sarcasm. Had to be the pain talking. It would only worsen with every minute.

( _Sometimes later on he would wonder if maybe it wasn't the pain talking, maybe Dennis was just tired of him, tired of his vagueness, fucking freak, he would be too, he didn't want Dennis to be though_ )

He shrugged, uncertain whether to respond to question seriously before turning around to stare at the door.

It seemed to stare straight back at him, as if asking what he wanted from it. As if it could hear him.

( _But it wasn't the door itself that could hear him, it was The Bad, or whatever energy surrounded it, some type of manipulation it could make on reality, whether through him or using him, that was the question he had_ )

_Open up, open up, Dennis needs to leave, please, open up -_

The door let out a groan as it unlocked and slowly swung itself open, screeching as it did so.

He turned back to Dennis, one eyebrow raised, head cocked to the door. “I'll shut it after, you need to leave, now.”

Letting out a surprised scoff again, Dennis stood, then chanced taking a few steps forward. Woozily, he glanced down at the blood trail left across the floor, to and from the doorway, then back up at his impromptu savior. “You knew. But you still tried to help.”

Summing up what little could be from all this chaos, head bowed, he trekked out the door. “Thanks, buddy.”

The alarms blaring overhead cut out as soon as he left the cell.

He watched as Dennis left, gradually making his way out, toward safety, taking a right turn past the barred door at the caged corridor’s end before closing his own cell up again.

Then whatever quavering resolve keeping him standing crumbled. Collapsing on the concrete floor, he went to his knees, hands held to his head before he started to wheeze, breaths not reaching his lungs.

( _Because Dennis could have died, Dennis would have died if he hadn't done something, he got shot, he still got hurt and it was all his fault wasn't it, wasn't it?_ )

Everything. Always.

Everything was always his fault.

~~~

What followed didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

Or face.

Mostly because the first thing his next set of visitors did was grab his arms, haul him up from the floor, spin him around, and flatten him - face first - against the wall.

After the fact, he should’ve more paid attention to their muffled commands, barked at him from outside the door. Then he might have had a chance to evade capture.

He let out a whimper as one of the men kept him flat and immobile, arms held behind his back, eyes darting around as he tried to look over his shoulder, to the other guard as his nearly-bare cell began to be torn apart.

“Thinking you don't have to follow the same rules as the rest, just ‘cause he's got Junior Ace around his finger,” the guard holding him scoffed as the other began to shake the cell down.

In truth, there wasn’t much. Besides the toilet, the mattress, the pillow, and it’s torn and useless sheet were all that he shared breathing room with.

More for him. Blankets didn’t need to breathe.

“Don’t let up, Ceese. He might not need the cuffs, but the quiet ones never seem to.”

He let out as quiet a groan as he could when the guard holding him crowded him even more into the wall, if it was possible. He didn't know how he was even keeping his breathing as steady as he was, not panicking just yet.

( _Because finally he was learning to save that panic for later, when the guards were gone and the damage wouldn't be nearly as bad as if he started screaming right now, as much as he wanted to, screaming at the man to let him go, stop touching him STOP_ )

“Trust me, I won't. I don't care what they say, no fuckin’ way it's a coincidence Adolf dies soon as this dude moves in with him.”

“And what if it’s not? Here I am, showin’ him the rough touch. Don’t see me _chokin’_ on my own tongue.” One meaty hand stayed wrapped around his folded wrists. The other abruptly repositioned itself, grabbing a handful of hair, pressing his face into the wall with such force he had to close his right eye. “What d’you way to that, kid? Care enough to prove me wrong?”

His heart felt like it stuttered, skipping beats so frequently he let out a gasp for air. Where was Dennis? He knew the young man had to get his wound cleaned, stitched, and bandaged, that he couldn't be there every moment of the day and he was okay with that - okay with more responsibility, even just in his cell.

But not like this. Not the responsibility to defend himself - The Bad had done that for him before, making sure the other prisoner didn't lay a hand on him, but now -

( _Now it was seething at him, asking him if this was what he wanted, hurt and pressed up against the wall, being mocked by two guards, unable to defend himself, is this what you want?_ )

Now it would allow whatever happened to happen, and he wouldn't make any grab for power.

He let out a whimper before a response, shutting his other eye before he opened it. “N-no, no, no, please - stop, please, stop - ”

“The fuck is this nonsense?”

The other guard’s grip loosened, just a bit. “Got somethin’? …Where the hell’d that come from?”

( _And then just what they had found, the realization came crashing down on him, making him want to scream and struggle harder, force the men out of his cell and close the door, because he could do that, just if The Bad would LET HIM_ )

“No, no, no, no,” he continued to mumble, not able to truly twist his head in the direction of the other guard so he could see what they found - but he was sure of what it was. “Don't take it, please, don't take - ”

_Thunk._

( _Tray hitting the ground, too scared to even attempt to pick it up as he cradled his hand to his chest, still remembering the way he broke his wrist_ )

The grip retightened, pinning his face anew.

“Were we talkin’ to you, Bugeyes? Zip it!”

“Never mind what it is. The hell do you need it for? Not like you’re really all that talkative when you’re not whinin’ to be left alone.”

He kept quiet, breathing in and out as slow as he could force himself to. Telling them what it was for - that would just cause more trouble for him and Dennis.

( _That's all he seemed to do anyways, though, cause trouble and pain and it was all his fault, his fault_ )

“Shit, I got an idea. Doesn't Ace have a kid on the way? I'd reckon he'd have one of these lyin’ around, Earl.”

They knew anyways. There was no point in him even trying to persuade them differently - they were going to do what they wanted to him, regardless.

“Maybe so. Anythin’ else? I don’t fancy the idea of being in here a minute longer than we need to. They haven’t even mopped the blood up yet.”

Hours later, it had dried. But it was unsightly.

( _Made his stomach turn later on to see it, because they didn't mop it up, why would they, they didn't think it was Dennis they thought it was his probably, hurt in his cell and they didn't care, didn't even check to look if that was true, just saw the blood on the ground and his shirt, saw him still breathing and let it be_ )

“That should be all. Where else he got to hide shit?”

“Where you think? Well, I’m not goin’ fishing in that thing. Knock yourself out.”

“Bite me, dude.”

He heard a rustle, then a thump as the mattress was tossed back onto its ledge. Then footsteps, shuffling out the door.

Taking the confiscated monitor with them.

The hands holding him let go. The pressure let off. Before he could find the nerve to turn around, the metal door swung back with a resounding _bang_ \- just as loud as any gunshot.

Any other time, he couldn’t care less what the sound meant.

( _Or what it reminded him up, a gunshot and the pants of pain as they tried to stay quiet, reminded him of a - of a - a cage, thrown in_ )

This time, he flinched.

( _Up the ladder and the bang of the top shutting made him flinch for a final time, when they find you ask, ask for him_ )

One bang, and just like that - alone again.

~~~

He had lost his half of the monitor.

_All your fault -_

Would Dennis be mad?

And what would they do to him, when they inevitably questioned him about it? What had he done? What if he lost his job?

( _The selfish part of him screamed that he couldn't be alone again, that he needed Dennis fiercely, fuck being independent if it meant he had to deal with everything alone_ )

_All your fault, you idiot, this is your fault -_

Was that why he wasn't back yet? Did he get fired? Did he hate him, for what happened? That it was his fault he was shot?

_All your fault, always your fault, you idiot -_

The voice chanting in his head sounded like The Bad, but overlapped, as if more than one version of it was circling him, screaming over and over again

( _How long has it even been, it wasn't more than half an hour after the shooting that the two guards came in, ruining his cell, tearing it apart and hurting him, where was Dennis was he okay, and how long had he been in this position, sitting numbly tucked up in the corner, long enough for it to go dark, beginning to turn light, has he been sitting here all night?_ )

All your fault, all your fault, you'll be alone forever now, why would he want to come back? You can't even hide a fucking baby monitor, can't even protect him from getting shot, why would he want to be around you?

He let out a whimper at the incessant

( _Voices? How was there more than one?_ )

voice, one that started up as soon as the guards left. Only now was he really tuning in to it. He wished he hadn't though, even if it was the truth.

All his fault. All his fault. All his -

_fault, all your fault, all your fault -_

Why couldn't they leave him alone? He knew it was his fault, knew it all too well, this wasn't new knowledge to him.

( _How long had it been, since the shooting, since Boyd was killed? A day? Was he losing time, legs crossed in this cell, mind reverting back to a blank like it had in the cage?_ )

The panic and fear of not knowing how much time had passed, just knowing that it was light once again, a whole day spent staring blankly through the bars of his

( _Cage, he was back in the cage and starving but it was better than a shot Dennis in front of him, scared of what was happening because of him, he should be back down there, shouldn't he_ )

cell seemed to exasperate the voice, making it louder than before.

_ALL YOUR FAULT, ALL YOUR FAULT, ALL YOUR FAULT -_

He clamped his hands around his ears, eyes shut tight, if only to try and retain some sanity, some leverage over the noise drowning out all other sound.

It wasn't working.

_ALL YOUR FAULT -_

_Stop it, stop it stop stopstopstop -_

_ALL YOUR FAULT -_

_I know I know I know please stop, I'm scared -_

The voices clamored even louder, relentless in their assault now that he was paying attention.

( _How long had it taken him to start doing so, though? A day? Longer? How long did he spend down in that cage? Did he even know? How could he be sure, when he spent so long in a daze?_ )

He opened his mouth and started to scream.

~~~

“Henry.”

His scream cut off as abruptly as it started at the name, voices tapering off as well. The female voice had cut through them both as if there was nothing but silence.

( _And he realized he must know who was speaking, it sounded so familiar - not the artificial way Emilia Zalewski's voice did through a vision from Dennis, but with real familiarity_ )

He felt a hand on one shoulder, still tensed with arms raised to clap over his ringing ears. Usually he would flinch away, especially after how roughly he was treated by the guards, but somehow he knew - she would not hurt him.

She was here to help.

“Henry, can you open your eyes for me? I know you're frightened, and you've been so brave. Just be a bit more brave for me, please.”

( _Henry? Why was she calling him Henry? Was that who he was? But how did that make any sense, when there was already one, a man he even knew, one he talked to?_ )

The hand stroked his shoulder soothingly, not making any move to force his arms down or move if he didn't comply. Just some comfort and support.

( _When was the last time he had something like that? When Dennis soothed him in this very cell, wasn't it - wasn't it funny the most comfort he had ever gotten was in this cell?_ )

He opened his eyes at the request, arms lowered as he cocked his head at the face in front of his own. It was a woman with dark hair

( _Dark like Molly's but now it was down like before, shaking it free as they laid down in the grass she was maybe allergic to_ )

but bright eyes, a warmth in them that he had only seen in Dennis's before. Concern, but happiness to see him, he thought.

( _A friend, trying to express what he saw in her eyes and it was friendship_ )

“Look at that.” She smiled at him, hand retreating after one final pat. “You always had such interesting eyes. No need to hide them from me, Henry. You're safe.”

“I'm… Henry?” he asked, latching onto any information he could get. Nevermind how this woman

( _He thought he knew who she was, too, her hair was dark like Molly's because she was Molly_ )

got into the cell - how could he question something like that when he opened the door with his mind before? Or how her eyes showed him nothing of her life? That didn't matter, not right now.

She smiled at him again, partially sad and partially happy, the hand coming back up to rest on the side of his face.

“Who else could you be, especially with those memories? I know you're confused right now, but… it'll all come back, with time.”

“I'm Henry,” he repeated, but this time with more confidence. Even if the words made no logical sense, that there was no way he could be Henry, he knew it was true, knew in the deepest part of him that Molly wasn't lying. “I'm Henry Deaver. That means Puck, and you - I remember you, from before.”

“I remember you as well.” She nodded, handing slipping back down to rest on his shoulder like before. “Of course I do. I wouldn't forget you, not ever, Henry. And you know Dennis hasn't either, right?”

The name of the young guard jolted him, brows creased at it. What if he was mad at him, though? What if he wouldn't get his monitor back, and even worse - what if he was fired?

“Dennis? B-but, what if he's mad, Molly? What if I got him trouble, and he's been fired?” His breathing pitched up, coming out in fast little pants at all the possibilities that there were.

“Let's go over some details now, okay, Henry?” She squeezed his shoulder, taking an exaggerated breath and gesturing for him to do so as well. He followed suit, taking an albeit shaky one of his own.

“It's been around a day and a half since the shooting. I looked for us, and Dennis is recovering well. Boyd was killed, just like you knew he would be. Dennis doesn't know about the baby monitor yet, but he won't be angry, just concerned. He was placed on medical leave, to recover. Yes, he's been given a significant bonus for his troubles. And - Henry, could you look at me, dear?”

He gave a quick start, not realizing his eyes had drifted back toward the cell door, with the mind-numbing stare. He focused back onto Molly's face, a small smile still sat upon it.

“Henry, this wasn't your fault. It feels like it, I know it does, but it wasn't.”

“What?” His own voice barely rose above a whisper. How could it not be his fault, did she even know what happened? How hurt Dennis was, how Boyd was killed because of him? “That's not - ”

“Hush for a moment. It wasn't your fault, no matter how The Bad tries to trick you. I think you know this, but you don't want to accept it.” She cocked her head to the side, the same way he did when he was going to ask a question.

( _Was she even really here, was she even real and if she wasn't did he care?_ )

“Why are you punishing yourself, by giving in? Don't you think you've been punished enough, by everything? Don't you deserve a break?”

“I'm not,” he protested, but knew it was a lie. Some part of him didn't fight back against The Bad the way he knew he could, because he did blame himself. There was no way the idea would have been able to dig in as deeply as it had if that wasn't true. “I - I don't… don't know what to do.”

“Neither do I.” she confided in him, and then he was sure she couldn't be real, could she? How was any of this possible? Who was real, and who wasn't? What if this was all some elaborate hallucination he dreamt up as he was starving in the cage?

( _But he didn't care if that was true, didn't he? Because it meant no one was hurt and there were nice things in this reality, few and far between as they were, it was just the confusion of knowing what was really happening and what was a vision_ )

“Henry. You really are in a cell, the shooting really did happen - let's not get too far down any rabbit holes just yet.” She sounded sharp, but he knew it wasn't because she was mad at him. Just concerned about how far he was tumbling down. “You know as well as I do that The Bad is going to try to hurt you. It already has, right? It's going to try again, with other visions.”

“Like… like you?”

She didn't answer, merely moved the hand up to his hair and ruffled through it.

( _Like Dennis had, waking up from a nightmare_ )

“Will you be okay, now? Be on guard for it?”

He nodded. What else could he do, shake his head to this - hallucination? Beg his own mind to stay with him, keep him sane while he waited for Dennis to be good enough to come back?

( _And Molly told him that Dennis wouldn't be mad but she wasn't real, just a figment of his imagination so really it was just him trying to comfort himself, right? Just him trying desperately to gain some semblance of control?_ )

“Good. You're exhausted, Henry, you've been up for more than a day. Get some sleep, you'll feel much better.”

As if her words brought it on, a wave of exhaustion overtook him, making him shut his eyes as it did so. She was right, of course - when was the last time he slept?

( _The last time he slept when he didn't wake up from a night terror or memory?_ )

“Okay, that sounds -”

He cut himself off as he opened his eyes, surprised but not shocked that he was alone again. He always had been, of course, but the vision had at least been a nice one. A calm one, after the day of the shooting, and then the harassment from the guards.

( _And more surprisingly he wasn't going to break down, wasn't going to start screaming and crying again, no, he was going to quietly get up and get onto his bed with no more sheet on it, curl up and breathe deep until he was asleep_ )

He stood up after another moment, shuffling over to his bed

( _Almost stepping in the bloodstains on the ground, letting out a harsh breath as he did so, eyes screwing tight before he continued to make his way over, he's not dead, stop thinking he is, what's better, dead and gone or mad and never to be seen again?_ )

Collapsing on his bed, rolling over on his side to face the wall, his breathing began to peter out. Something that would have seemed impossible for him even an hour ago now felt like the only thing he could conceive of doing.

Henry slept.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tough week without Dennis passes. Or, at least, without the real him.

For the first time in perhaps his whole lifetime 

( _Maybe even as a child with Matthew and Ruth, those were his parents, weren't they, mom and dad, it felt so odd to think that was true, he was Henry Deaver even if it made no sense, how could that be possible?_ ) 

He didn't wake up panicked, crying, or screaming. 

Instead he blearily opened his eyes as he began to shift on the mattress, before closing them with a huff and attempting to sleep again. 

_Just a bit longer. Haven't slept good in so long…_

It wasn't as if Dennis would be back soon, not with his wound. That's what not-Molly said, right? He was on leave to heal. 

( _And maybe there was a bit of suspicion around him but what could anyone do about that, the CCTV video tapes turned out to be fried, huh, funny like that, him being protected like that, or more like The Bad having to protect him, since they both occupied this body, can't have one dead without the other_ ) 

He would be alone for awhile longer, and with no way to contact Dennis after he came back. Alone, and completely dependent again. 

The thoughts made him cringe, made getting back to sleep impossible. With everything that happened and that was swirling in his mind 

( _How the shooting happened and then being able to open the door, tapes being fried - he learned that in passing conversations from whoever was left after the massacre, no way to see really what had happened - the humiliation afterwards from the guards and The Bad, and not-Molly, telling him he was Henry, way too much to go back to bed_ ) 

his body was simply to tense to try. instead he sat up after another moment, drawing a hand across his eyes in an attempt to blink the rest of the sleep out of them. 

_You're up._

The words were terse and full of tension, sending a shiver down his spine as The Bad spoke. It was the first thing it had said to him since causing another breakdown 

( _Panic attack, that's what Dennis called them, muttering to himself as he attempted to comfort him, as he spiraled and no one was there to help, Dennis was gone, only his mind to help_ ) 

some hours ago. 

_I - I am._ Leaving it at that, he stood up, looking around his torn apart cell and the bloodstains still on the floor. 

_Well? Are you happy with what has happened? Proud of yourself?_

Was he? Could he be, proud that he kept Dennis safe when it cost the lives of so many others? 

( _But who was The Bad to speak? It wanted everyone dead, so it could continue to spread its torture, yes, that's what it wanted_ ) 

_…Dennis is alive, and will heal_. He avoided the question, instead opting to take a seat near the door of the cell, crowded into the corner so he could be the first to see if any guards were coming. 

Same way he had sat when Boyd came to his cell. 

_That's not what I asked, Henry._

The name gave him a jolt, so unused to being referred to by it. Uneasy, as well - it wasn't really his name here, wasn't it? Did he truly have any claim to it, when there was already a Henry Deaver here with a life and memories to go with it? 

( _He had some memories, though, only a few, but he had them, right? He had the one about Molly and one with Puck, yes, and Matthew arguing with Ruth about it, he had some memories_ ) 

_I'm not happy that people died, but I am happy that Dennis made it out._

There was silence after, that he would've thought was almost contemplative if it wasn't from The Bad. It was probably gearing up to hurt him and yell at him because he didn't obey it, some voice in his head 

( _Why should it have so much power over him when he proved he could take that power for himself it wasn't fair why did he keep getting hurt_ ) 

that held such sway. He brought his knees up in anticipation, arms crossed over them and head down as the silence dragged on. 

_Then just sit there_ , it said suddenly, fury in its voice making him let out a whimper. _Sit there like the waste you are, and rot in this Godforsaken cell. Sit there, if you're too stupid and blind to see past your complete and utter complacency and dependence._

“That's not - don't - ” he cut himself off with another whimper, burying his head in his arms further. “D-don't say that, don't, I'm not a waste.” 

_You are. Sit there like the trained dog you are and wait for Dennis to come back._

“Don't call me that - ”

_Why? It isn’t as though you can do anything to stop me. You never could before._

“I can, I did, don't speak to me like that - ”

( _Why did he always end up this way, no matter what happened, no matter how calm he was, how much progress he made it crumbled_ ) 

_I'll speak to you however I goddamn please. Now sit there, and cry._

He didn't start his day doing this, trying to desperately stop himself from hyperventilating, rocking back and forth in the corner of his cell, but it didn't take long for it devolve that way. 

( _And the warning from Molly, be on his guard, be vigilant against any further attacks, it was the furthest thing in his mind, no, now all he could do is exactly what The Bad said, sit and cry like a waste_ )

It never did. 

~~~ 

“Hey, hey, hey, Henry, you're okay, please look at me -” 

Nononono _nono_ no - he didn't want not-Molly here, he wanted Dennis, where was _Dennis_ \- 

He felt a hand brush against one of his arms, making him flinch and try to draw back more, it wasn't a real touch, it wasn't _real_ , he didn't want fake hands, he wanted real. 

“I know, I know, you want Dennis, I'm sorry, he can't come right now.” The hand tried again, making him let out a louder cry, bashing his spine into the wall in an attempt to escape. 

What didn't she understand? What didn't _he_ understand, because she wasn't real it was just his mind, trying to soothe him but it wasn't going to work, wouldn't work because it wasn't real. 

“You're hurting yourself, Henry, stop it! I'm sorry, I'll stop touching you, please, just stop.” Not-Molly actually sounded panicked, voice raising in fear as he screwed his eyes shut tighter. 

Why did he care? He wasn't worth anything, he was just a waste of space who didn't even know his own story, couldn't even really protect his only friend, couldn't do anything without Dennis 

( _And that sliver of hard-fought independence was down the drain, making him feel more vulnerable than he had before knowing he had no way of contacting Dennis, no way to tell him how he was struggling, getting the options ripped away just showed him how dependent he truly was_ ) 

so why did it even matter? It only took him two days or so to spiral without him. 

It didn't matter. He didn't care. 

And then the hand came back with more force, latching onto his arm and he let out a short scream, trying to yank away from it as hard as he could, let him _go_ \- 

“Buddy, buddy, please, calm down, it's me!” 

His breath caught in his throat at the voice, body automatically stilling as he took the words in. 

( _Dennis somehow in his cell in the place of Molly and it only took a minute for it to click, for him to realize just what was happening, it wasn't really Dennis was it, just another figment_ ) 

“You're… not real,” he muttered, but let himself be drawn closer to the hallucination, arms wrapping lower around his legs so that he could pick his head up. 

Eyes still closed. He wasn't ready to see Not-Dennis just yet, especially since he knew he wasn't real. 

“I know, I know. Can you take a breath for me, though? You don't have to open your eyes, just take a breath.” 

It sounded so much like Dennis for a moment that he felt dizzy, hands going down to grip at whatever he could find, nails scraping against the floor as he did so. 

He took the breath, though, if only because he was so used to following Dennis's instructions when he was panicking. 

“Good job, buddy. Just keep breathing deep, just the way you are.” 

He didn't like it, even as it calmed him down. It felt wrong, drawing comfort from a fake voice. 

( _But why? Why did he feel so shamed by it? Why did he feel so ashamed from simply trying to help himself, even with something like this? Why was it so wrong?_ ) 

“Don’t touch me,” The hand on his arm froze, giving him a squeeze after a moment. “Please, don't. Please, lemme go.” 

Another pause, before the hand slid away, almost reluctantly. But it was himself, right? Brain messing up, making him believe he was being comforted by Dennis, that there was the sensation of touch on his arm? 

( _Or maybe it was even some part of The Bad he was manipulating for himself, he did that before, made the cell door open even when it was obvious he wasn't going to leave, how did that work, where did The Bad and its powers end and he began?_ ) 

“Buddy…” Not-Dennis let out a sigh, but didn't go any further. How could he? He wasn't the real Dennis, he would follow through with whatever he wanted. 

It was just him, wasn't it? 

( _He was already alone then, going more alone wouldn't mean anything, he could do that, he didn't need it_ ) 

“Please, go away. I don't want you, I want Dennis.” He swallowed harshly at his admission, a few stray tears leaking out from his closed eyes, but with no real danger of hyperventilating again. “I just want Dennis.” 

Silence. Not even another sigh, or breath. Just his own, beginning to slow down and draw heavier as he leaned his head back against the wall, opening one eye. 

There was no one there. 

It was what he wanted. 

( _It wasn't really, though, it was more he didn't want a fake version of Dennis, he wanted the real version almost desperately but he couldn't see him, not for a week at least, or was it sooner, what day was it?_ ) 

Right? 

~~~ 

Monotony didn't take long to settle in. For so long, he had no way of knowing how much time passed 

( _But he did, in a way, because he could remember winters where he thought he may freeze to death, curled up in a ball as much as he could, teeth chattering, hair almost frozen, cherishing the moments the man came down because it happened less frequently then_ ) 

besides the marking of a new year. The same thinking lent itself for him in the new cage, eyes dull as they stared at the dried blood stain. 

Only the harsh sound of something being slammed against his cell door made him jump. His eyes skipped from the floor to the sight of a guard staring him down impatiently, tray haphazardly shoved through the opening. 

( _How much time had passed since Not-Dennis, if they were feeding him? How often would they even feed him? Dennis told him once he was supposed to get three meals a day, that he would make sure he received them, but with him gone it seemed unlikely_ ) 

“You gonna grab it or what?” The guard pounded a fist against the cell door again, rolling his eyes when he flinched back against the wall. 

“What's goin’ on?” The voice of another guard came closer at the ruckus, most likely on high alert after the shooting that had occurred. 

( _That he had caused_ )

“Fuckin’ Nick Cage, man. He needs Dennis to spoon feed him, apparently.” 

( _“The other guards, they call him Nick Cage, or Nick at Nite. Since we watch him on the cameras,” he explained to Henry, trying to convey to him that no, he didn't call him that to make fun of him, he just wanted a name. “I just call him Nick. He looks like one, to me.”_ ) 

He blinked the sudden vision away, freezing when he realized he had moved forward, one hand curled around the tray. 

Nick, Dennis called him… Nick? Because he wanted him to be called something, wanted to give him a name? 

( _The way Lacy refused to, didn't even give him a nickname, didn't call him boy except when he was angry, the same way Matthew didn't refer to him even as human sometimes, did that happen to the other Henry as well?_ )

And a name of his own? One he could take, because Dennis was giving it to him? 

( _Twisting what could have been cruel into something that was his? Could he do that?_ ) 

“-nna take it?” The guard impatiently shoved it further into his hand, making the tray tip dangerously. He grabbed at it without thinking till he had an actual grip on it, shuffling backwards as he did so. 

Dinner. Or lunch… or breakfast? What time was it? The artificial lighting outside made it hard for him to tell just what time it was. The monotony compounded the issue. 

He looked down at the food, ignoring the footsteps of the two men out in the hallway, walking away. 

( _How long would he be on lockdown, though? Was everyone on lockdown, after what happened, and how long had that been, how long since the shooting, how long? Was he losing time, the way he did in the cage?_ ) 

“Three days. It's been around three days since the shooting.” The voice came suddenly, but it wasn't the shock it had been before. “At least they gave you bread.” 

He nodded at the voice of Not-Dennis, settling himself back down in his cell, almost directly in the center. 

( _Mere inches away from the bloodstain of the young man with the same voice as his hallucination, back even though he told it to leave_ ) 

Two pieces of bread, some foreign meat 

( _If he told that to the real Dennis he would have scoffed and grinned at him, told him it was a good thing he was on a strict diet of just bread, right? But this wasn't Dennis it was Not-Dennis so he kept his mouth shut_ ) 

and wilted looking bits of green salad. He grabbed one piece of the bread, between two fingers, before a hand found it's way between his shoulder blades without warning. 

“Wha - don’t touch me!” He yelped, eyes screwing shut as soon as he felt the touch. Not touch, is that what it was? What was happening? 

“Sorry, sorry - ” The hand retreated. “Sorry, I shouldn't have touched you, Nick.”

Even his version of Dennis, Not-Dennis, somehow caught up to the vision. Which made sense, right, since it was just him? 

( _Was it though?_ ) 

“Don't touch me,” he repeated, opening his eyes to look back down at the food. “Please, don't.” 

He didn't ask for him to leave, though. Maybe it was part desperation, and part boredom, but now that he was calmer, not with any red flags for a panic attack

( _And with no voice of The Bad seething at him, sending him shaking, as if… as if his visions, his hallucinations couldn't happen at the same time as The Bad, and The Bad couldn't appear when he was having his hallucination_ ) 

he could handle just the voice and its presence. 

“I won't, I'm sorry, buddy.” 

“Okay.” 

~~~ 

Day four passed with no incidents.

( _He was counting down by now, praying that a week was all Dennis would need, and then guilty that he wanted that, especially after being the reason he got hurt in the first place_ ) 

Not-Dennis faded in and out, always out of his vision - or more, he was avoiding looking at him. Sometimes Not-Molly replaced him 

( _And she, he would look at, even if they rarely spoke, just sitting together with his downtime, downtime that stretched on forever because no one ever bothered to let him out, only real human interaction coming with the tray being taken out, new one replacing itself an hour later_ ) 

for awhile, but it would always go back to the phantom voice behind him. 

“They should at least give you some books in here, Nick.” 

( _He didn't answer but sighed in reply, shifting forward on the edge of his bed, staring blankly out of his cell because Not-Dennis was right, there was nothing to do in here except talk to himself, these figures he must've made up, how else would they be here?_ ) 

No more touching, as well. But he didn't ask for him to leave, either. 

~~~ 

Day five began with a nightmare. 

~~~ 

As with most dreams, it felt like reality as soon as he found himself in it. 

He didn't know where he was, but he did at the same time, in that same forest he was taken from, snowy and silent at night. 

He shivered, looking around in a moment of confusion before starting forward, feet hesitantly crushing the snow underneath them as he did. 

After only walking past a few trees, a figure appeared in the distance, beginning to walk toward him as well. In the darkness he couldn't make out any of their features, just the overall shape of another person, with a stark white shirt standing out with the darkness. 

( _He was wearing a white shirt as well, coincidence right, rightright_ ) 

Were his feet moving on their own? Was he moving in tandem with the other figure? 

Were they wearing the same thing? 

( _Were they were they were they his mind kept skipping over and out, not comprehending what was happening but it was reality right_ )

Another few steps, he wanted to turn back, one hand reaching out to grab at a tree because this didn't make sense, the other figure coming closer was tall but not taller than him, the exact same height, even - 

( _the same hair color, dotted with snowflakes because it was pounding down on them, cold and white and he couldn't see the other’s face but he had an idea, oh God he had an idea_ ) 

The only sounds he could hear was his own breathing and what he thought was the wind but the closer the other person drew 

( _So close he could almost make out their face, could almost see their features and they were blue, why did they look blue and staggering_ ) 

the more it sounded like something creaking and howling, something in the woods screaming at them getting louder, loud enough he shut his eyes for a moment, hands on his ears. 

( _Sounded like The Bad when it would have those few odd days, merely screaming when it got mad at him, some inhuman bellowing that instantly made him weak_ ) 

His eyes opened after another moment, wandering back up to see the figure a mere foot or so away. 

It was him. 

Or - a version of him, but it’s face was blue and caved in it looked like, lined as if they were deeply scarred, pits around their eyes, lips cracked and bleeding and they were just staring at him, blank stare, no no _nonononono -_

He was screaming without even realizing it, hands still planted firmly over his ears, feet still rooted to the ground because he couldn't move, even when the other him 

( _The monster, they liked to call him a monster but how could they when this existed_ ) 

started forward suddenly, still with that blank stare peering at nothing, hands on his shoulders and then on his neck but still - 

Still more hands on his shoulders, dragging him down down _downdown_ , just staring into those dead, blank eyes - 

~~~ 

There were still hands on him when he finally woke up, shaking him by his shoulders, one knee digging into his side as his eyes made contact with Dennis's. 

_No._

Not-Dennis, it was him, not the real one - shaking him awake from his nightmare, wide eyes staring him down. 

( _They weren't blank though, anything but that blank look, please, with hands around his throat, almost no pressure but he still couldn't breathe_ ) 

“Don't - touch _me_!” After getting the words out he struggled out of the grasp, pushing himself up by his elbows before bursting into tears. 

The hallucination - apparition, was that a better word for it? - ignored his admonition and pulled him into a hug, shifting their positions so that his head was resting on (not?) Dennis's shoulder. 

“It's okay, it was just a dream, Nick, just a scary dream,” Not-Dennis murmured, one of his arms reaching up more so his hand could brush through his hair. “It's okay. You're okay, nothing's gonna hurt you.” 

He didn't respond back, just kept sobbing into his shoulder, partially because of his nightmare but partially because he didn't want _fake_ comfort, didn't want some fake sensation of an arm gently pressing him into Not-Dennis, didn't want the fake sensation of a hand running through his hair 

( _And more tears left when he thought of how Dennis had done that for him before, after he woke up from the memory, and here he was just repeating that comfort best he could_ ) 

and words whispered to calm him down. 

He didn't want anything fake, he wanted Dennis, as selfish and dependent as it was. 

But even though he didn't want it, he leaned into it anyways, eyes screwed shut as tight as he could force them as he cried into the apparitions shoulder. 

Fake comfort… it was better than none at all. 

~~~ 

“How long… before Dennis comes back?” 

He was seated on his bed, listlessly watching the floor as Not-Molly paced in front of him, every so often pausing at the cell door to look out of it. 

“I'm not sure. Six days since it happened, he would be gone a week at least, right? He did get grazed.” She turned back to him with a sad smile, arms folded in front of her. 

They didn't talk about the nightmare, or what happened afterwards the other day. Not-Molly, even if she was the same figment of his imagination, seemed to understand he took the comfort in a moment of desperation, and that in a way, it shamed him to do so. 

It wasn't real. Not-Dennis wasn't real. 

( _So why did it feel soothing to be held, then, if it was just himself? It was really only because of who he was imagining, wasn't it?_ ) 

“Soon, at leas - ” Right as she had been speaking it was as if she was torn from existence, one minute beginning to walk away from the door and the next not in front of him. He started at the sudden change, blinking once before getting up from his bed. 

“Molly? …M-Molly?” 

( _“-et me understand this. You found the Count of Monte Cristo, in a septic tank. He asks for his lawyer, lawyer shows up, you stiff-arm the guy to cover your ass. And then, one of our own guards, apparently not liking this miscarriage of justice, does the only logical thing he can think… and pumps two clips into his coworkers.”_ ) 

Dizzily he sat back on his bed, blinking rapidly at the sudden vision that overtook him. Only after another minute did he realize Molly was there again, eyes wide with fright as she helped him shuffle back towards the wall. 

“Molly? What's happenin- ”

( _“ - our very own Times alert! And yeah, I'd like to take a moment of silence, mourn the dead, be human for a change - I really would. But I can't, because I'm too busy getting fucked in the ass by your incompetence."_ ) 

“Please - stop, I don't want to hear that, why - ”

“Listen, Henry, listen, it's important.” She pressed a finger to her lips and shushed him. 

( _“I don't care if you make him vanish into thin air like Harry fuckin’ Houdini, I don't care if you bury him under the yard, I don't care if you buy him a ticket to Mallorca - whatever happens in there, however it gets handled, I knew nothing. The board knew nothing. And if things go wrong, Theresa, there's always room under the bus for one more rogue employee.”_ ) 

Sometimes, he felt like the visions he had were incredibly random, with no real meaning behind them. Sometimes it was even just him wanting to check on Dennis. 

But this one. This one was different, wasn't it? 

( _She stood up with a sigh, teeth grit at the conversation because what were they going to do about that kid, something was definitely wrong with him and the longer he stayed the more problems he caused but… but if he -_ ) 

This wasn't random. 

It was a warning. 

~~~

Sleep hadn't come to him that night. Instead he faced the wall, curled up on his bed, incredibly tense from what he had seen. Theresa, the new Warden - he knew she wouldn't take whoever was speaking to her lightly. 

She intended to follow through with what they wanted. What that was, he didn't know just yet. 

He learned soon enough. 

It was late, late enough to almost be the next day

( _Day seven, hopes riding on this being when Dennis returned even though he shouldn't, selfishly wanting him there so the monotony would stop but now also because of the new plot, something going to happen to him and he needed help, couldn't escape this on his own_ ) 

but not early enough for lights to be on. Still pitch black, with almost no noise. So when three pairs of footsteps came down the hallway

( _And not the thundering way the guards normally did, but in a quiet, purposeful way, as if they didn't want to disturb or wake anyone, or more so they wanted to catch someone off guard, wonder who that is_ ) 

he sat up in a flash, pushed into the farthest corner he could find, hands gripping into the bed. 

Not-Molly and Not-Dennis were both gone, having disappeared soon as he turned toward the wall in an attempt to sleep, one lingering hand on his shoulders before they were gone. 

( _He wished they were here now though, even if the guards couldn't see them, even if they were just his imagination, fake is better than nothing, right? Wasn't that his reasoning?_ ) 

His eyes had adjusted to darkness for twenty-seven years. A week or two 

( _Or a month, how long ago was that rescue, that first time being coaxed out of the cage?_ ) 

being in some light didn't make a difference or cause a regression of those skills. So when three men, the ones who had been walking down the hallway, stopped in front of him, he didn't just see blurs. Their faces were identifiable to him - one more than others. 

Reeves didn't have the same smug air that he did the last time, now instead seeming almost nervous 

( _But not as much as he was, didn't they know they held all the power here? That The Bad essentially abandoned him unless it was life or death, and turns out, this wasn't life or death but it would feel like_ ) 

at whatever they were going to do. But not nervous enough for a smirk to settle on his face when he noticed he was also awake. 

A whine got caught in the back of his throat, pressed up even further into the wall 

( _Stop doing that, Henry, you'll hurt yourself!_ ) 

as the cell door began opening when Reeves gestured for one of the two others to do so. It got unstuck when he belatedly noticed a syringe in the last guard’s plastic-gloved hand. 

( _There was a lot he could take a lot he did take, being harassed verbally and then when his cell was disheveled, he took that with as much dignity as he could, but not that, being drugged, no -_ ) 

“No - don't do that,” he whispered almost frantically as they filed in, door remaining unshut behind them. “Don't do _that_ , not _that_ \- ”

( _Because that's what Lacy had done sometimes, tricked him with starvation and food until he had no choice, drugging it so he would stop the noise, that's what he wanted a break from his noise, but it was almost more terrifying than anything else that had happened, the dizziness and then coming to, fighting himself to wake up_ ) 

“Quick, boys,” Reeves drawled, back up against the far wall of the cell, arms crossed in front of him. “While it's still dark. Don't want any interference, now.” 

( _No nononono he didn't want this anything but this, panicking as he was dragged into blackness, nothing but darkness and who would know what was happening to him, anything, quiet, he didn't want that no not THIS_ ) 

“N-NO!” he cried out, arms up to protect himself, but it didn't matter, not against two others with no Bad to protect him. “Please, _don't!_ Stop!” 

One grabbed his arm, forcing it out straight even as he tried to 

( _Not fight back but not give up, eyes simply staring at Lacy, hand around his wrist and yanking it, more and more till it snapped, letting it go like it was unbearingly hot when he shrieked_ ) 

pull it out of his grasp, eyes still locked onto the smirking Reeves. Eyes still looking through Reeves, and then he understood, no - 

( _Drug the fuckin’ kid and then who gives a shit what happens to his body, dump it somewhere, if he dies he's a nobody if he lives he's just a mentally ill vagrant no one'll believe him_ ) 

“S-STOP!” he screamed, finally tearing his eyes away from Reeves, wildly kicking out at the two guards even as they stayed relatively quiet, just muttering curses under their breath when he connected with flesh. “Leave me - alone! Don't d-do tha - ”

“Shut him up,” Reeves hissed suddenly, taking a quick, nervous look out of the cell. There was some noise starting, other inmates grumbling as they were awoken, some shouting to figure out what was happening. “Shut him the _fuck_ up, now.” 

At the order a hand clamped over his mouth, pressing down hard enough that he couldn't even attempt to open his mouth to scream, or bite at whoever was covering his mouth. Instead, all he could do was watch with dizzying horror at the syringe descended toward the arm that was held out. 

_Don't panic, don't panic, just - try to breathe, Nick,_ Dennis suddenly pleaded in his head, making him start, before he was forced back into remaining still. _Just breathe, it's - you're going to be okay, just breathe._

( _How could he do that when he was about to be drugged, not know what happens to him? How could his mind even begin to tell him to calm down?_ ) 

_Henry, listen to him, just breathe_ , Not-Molly joined in to the clamor, trying to calm him down. _Just breathe, please._

Too loud, it was much too loud, even if they were trying to help they were just adding to the noise of the other inmates and the confusion in his cell, noise in his head, too much _too much_ \- 

The needle punctured his skin, almost painlessly, liquid inside being expelled into his body. He let out one final whimper as it did so, giving one last half-hearted attempt at jerking away, even as his limbs began to feel heavier. 

_Just brea…_ the voice trailed off, fading away the same way it felt like he was. _Juuussss…._

He mumbled along with the voice, head tilted back, suddenly too heavy for him to hold up, darkness beginning to swim over his vision. A shape that could have been a face stared back down at him, getting closer, then suddenly turning with a noise. 

“Wha…” he tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry, tongue too heavy to form the word. His vision degenerated into mere shapes and colors, almost so dark he could barely make out any different blurs. “Suuhh…” 

Something covered his mouth again, but he was too disorientated to do anything else, just blink his eyes slowly, before they shut. 

And didn't reopen. 

~~~ 

Back in the forest and the other him was there, face still blue and lined and dead-eyed, holding onto him and he wouldn't let go _let me go go let me GO_ he was so cold, everything was cold, and snowy, it was just so - 

~~~ 

Cold. 

It was the first thing he could recall when he came back to, eyes slowly opening to nothing but darkness, feet and hands frozen. 

…Why? What had - happened? His mind caught up with the rest of him, memories of what just happened making him let out a weak gasp. Where was he? Why was it so cold? Why could he only see darkness? 

Or… not just darkness. His eyes adjusted quickly, blinking rapidly up at the perceived nothingness, now not just darkness. There were some spots of brightness with them, dotted and fading in and out of his vision. 

_Stars_ , a quiet voice in his head whispered, but familiar enough he could peg it as Not-Molly. _Look, Henry - those are stars. You know what that means?_

Stars, up in a night sky, and what did that mean if he was seeing them? If he moved his head to the side and saw what was making him cold - a dark, granite road? 

Without an answer to the voice, he forced himself to sit up with another gasp, this one stronger than the last, eyes searching around frantically. 

He was outside. 

_No no no no nononono -_

Just a day ago he was inside, in a cell with his apparitions to talk to as he waited for Dennis, and now, now, he had been left for dead outside after being drugged? 

How would Dennis ever find him? How would he know where he was in the world, how would he explain himself? How could he survive, like this, not even The Bad to guide him? 

Too much, this was too much again, so much stress and anxiety from the whole week all alone coming to crash down on him all at once, making a sob leave his throat, legs pushing up so he could rest his head against his knees. 

“It's okay, it's okay, buddy. Hey, you're okay, look, we're outside, right?” Another voice joined the fray, along with a hand on his back, stroking up and down as he continued to cry. 

He was outside, but he didn't _want_ to be, not right now, not when Dennis was so close to being back at work, not when he lost the baby monitor, no way to apologize. 

( _And another reason why, one he was ashamed of - he didn't want to be so out in the open, even if before, some sort of before with Ruth and Matthew, when he was somehow Henry he had been in the world but so long it was a cage and then a cell, closed confined space, not this_ ) 

“It's okay,” Not-Dennis soothed, even as he began to shake, taking in shallow breaths. He couldn't deal with this, not right now, not when everything was coming crashing down on him. “It's okay, you're okay, Nick. You're okay.” 

“Don't - stop - ” His words weren't coming out in any coherent way, just fragments of panic and distress at the situation. He needed to be out of there, right then and there, not the sheer _openness_ of the world, he wasn't ready for that - 

“What if you can find somewhere to sleep?” Not-Dennis cut into his thoughts, since he knew them as well. “Somewhere not… so out in the open? We're in town, I think.” 

_Sleep somewhere isolated_ , went unsaid, but he knew that's what it meant. _Somewhere small._

That - sounded good to him. Somewhere he couldn't turn his head and see stars. That was much, much too sudden for him, all this sheer newness and panic, not being able to truly take and process the experience. 

Overwhelmed, Not-Molly chimed in, still as gentle as ever. _The word you're looking for is overwhelmed, dear. That's what you are right now._

He was, extremely so. Maybe even more than when he was finally released from the cage. All the issues, the problems he would have to start dealing with from this new change, he could do so tomorrow. 

“O-Okay. Somewhere to sleep…” he mumbled, head raised from his knees to wipe at his still-leaking eyes, downturned so he couldn't catch a glimpse of the stars. “That sounds good to me.” 

~~~

It had taken him a few more minutes to stumble to his feet, shivering at the cold of the night. What a contrast, from that day in the yard, so hot the air was distorted, a contrast he almost didn't think he would ever feel. 

Or at least, not nearly as soon. 

Not-Dennis was right, about being in town. At least that's what it appeared to be, with big, looming stone buildings. The ground stung at his bare feet 

( _They took the shoes he had been given, wanting reparation for their labor perhaps and all he had to offer was what he was given, they already took the baby monitor and he never had his sanity or story to begin with_ ) 

arms wrapped around his sides, teeth chattering almost hysterically. 

There was no other thought in his mind than to find somewhere to 

( _Decompress, we both need to decompress, buddy, you understand?_ ) 

calm down and sleep the confusion off. Somewhere even just relatively confined and safe, anything would do. 

It didn't take him as long as he thought it would for a place to reveal itself. 

Turning a dark corner, resolved to check the windows of the huge building that seemed to be centralized to all the others, with a plaque on the door that declared it a historic yarn mill, he froze. 

_There_ , Not-Molly whispered, as if he couldn't see it. _That car, it's parked far away from the street, and it's small…_

“Better than nothing.” he mumbled, shuffling his way over to the black car. If the doors were open, of course, then it would be better than nothing. 

One hand closed around the handle of the back door. He took one more nervous breath, before pulling on it. 

_Oh, thank God,_ he thought feverishly, not to anyone in particular when it opened. _Thank God someone didn't lock their car._

( _“Do not take the Lord's name in vain, Henry,” Matthew's voice thundered at him, cowing him over from his mumbled words_ ) 

No. Not right now, no - flashbacks, or memories, nothing that would rile him up even further, even if it was from a past he desperately wanted to know. 

Now, all he wanted was to be able to rest his exhaustion and confusion away. The car could give that to him. The inside was dark, and not much warmer than the night. But it was what he 

( _Needed_ ) 

craved, a confined space where he could stop thinking about just what was happening 

( _Well let's go through the facts, a shooting gone wrong, baby monitor taken, Dennis gone for a week, Not-Dennis and Not-Molly, learning his name and story, one he didn't even delve into, too much for him to truly take that in, and then being drugged and dumped on the streets of Castle Rock, a great week_ ) 

and just space out or sleep. Nothing else, nothing to bring even more distress than he was already in, was still in. 

He climbed inside without a second thought, pulling the door behind him. Laying down on the cool polyester seating, he curled up into a ball, knees tucked up to his downward chin, breathing finally beginning to even out. 

_We can deal with everything in the morning_ , Not-Molly comforted him from his mind. Just rest now. It's been a long day. 

That it certainly had, almost his longest yet. The uncertainty of what was going to happen afterwards, now that he was effectively turned loose…that would be dealt with later. 

Instead of being forced over him, this time sleep came easy. 

~~~ 

“ _\- rises like Olympus above the Serengeti…_ ” 

He awoke to the sound of music and a car door slamming shut. 

_Oh no._

Whoever's car this was, the one he dozed off in, they were inside now without knowing he was as well. Freezing, uncertain of what he should do, he merely opened his eyes to see who they were. 

It was a young, blonde woman, eyes downturned as one hand aimlessly reached for one of the many dials on the front of the car, humming to the song under her breath. 

Almost subconsciously, he realized he was as well. 

( _The song must've been one he knew from before, when he was Henry and the past still confused him but what other explanation was there, was he going to deny that when so many other things happened with him? Would he deny what seemed to be an impossible past when the Bad took up residence in his head?_ )

“ _I seek to cure what's deep inside, frightened of this -_ ” 

Her fingers finally found the dial mid-lyric, cranking it so fast he couldn't help but let out a cry, startled by the sudden increase in volume. 

“ _THING THAT I'VE BECOME!_ ” 

“Holy shit!” she yelped at hearing him, hand dropping whatever she was holding, immediately turning back to stare at him with wide eyes. “Holy _fucking_ shit, what the fuck?” 

He sat up as quick as he could, hands in front of him defensively. There was no good explanation that he could give her about who he was and what he was doing, nothing that would seem even the slightest bit normal. 

Her hand immediately went back to the music, turning it down considerably. 

“ _I BLESS TH-e rains down in Afri…_ ” 

“Who're you?” she demanded, eyes narrowed as they stared each other down. “What're you doing in my car, man?” 

What could he tell her, that Shawshank decided to tie up a loose end, dumping him on a random street in the dead of night, to live or die, after drugging him?

He couldn't tell her anything. Instead he merely whimpered at the questioning, wilting down in the seat even further. 

Her face softened at the sight, head cocked to the side as she took him in. “Hey, don't - I'm just asking, dude, I'm not gonna hurt ya. You scared the shit out of me, that's all.” 

“Sorry,” He finally managed to get his voice back, whispering his apology to her. “I… meant to wake up and leave earlier.” 

“...Okay, this is weird.” She shook her head, before doing something he never imagined would happen - she smiled at him. “Good thing I like freaky stuff. My name's Jackie. What's yours?” 

He blinked at her, mouth opening slightly in surprise. Either he was having another hallucination, now of someone new, or Jackie was extremely empathetic to a situation she didn't even fully understand. 

…Or, she was slightly unstable. Both, perhaps, from the way she spoke. 

And what would he say, for a name? Tell her his name was Henry Deaver? That wouldn't work, not at all, not when the other version was in town. She was probably old enough to know _of_ him at least, if not actually know each other. 

( _There was another name he could use though, the guards used it but so did Dennis in a much kinder way, Not-Dennis used it for him as well after the vision revealed it_ ) 

“Nick?” he said it as a question, still unsure of whether he would actually use it or not, if Jackie would accept it. “My name's… Nick.” 

“All right, Nick,” she nodded, continuing to smile at him, before turning her back and reaching for her dropped item. “Now, why're you in my car? Why'd you sleep in here? You don't seem to be from around here.” 

He couldn't tell her the actual truth, when it came to just why he had to take shelter in her unlocked car of all places. 

_Tell her… just the bare bones_ , Not-Molly suggested, her first words to him since he woke up. Not-Dennis was effectively missing, his last time heard or felt being when he suggested they find a place to sleep. _Tell her you had nowhere else to go._

“I… didn't have anywhere else to go,” he mumbled, watching through half-lidded eyes as she turned back around, the object she dropped revealed to be her phone. “I was lost and… and scared, and it was late.” 

“I see.” Jackie sighed at the knowledge, giving him another, albeit smaller, smile. Perhaps she could just tell he wasn't a threat, not with his timid ways and general mannerisms. “Well, you need a lift to anywhere, Nick? You familiar with Castle Rock?” 

( _He was but he wasn't, maybe he could find his way to the church or Matthew and Ruth's house - or just Ruth's now, since he was dead, but other than that he wasn't sure, didn't know just how much muscle memory he could rely on_ ) 

He shook his head no. The best thing he could probably do would be get out of her car and try to find a way to contact Dennis, if he even could do so. Or Henry - would the other Henry be able to help him? 

( _With what though, what did he want from his life? Because now, even with it so new he wasn't so dumb he couldn't tell his life was now irreversibly changed, one day merely fighting to stay alive to his next day in the cell, now free in the world_ ) 

“Shit,” she hissed, fingers drumming impatiently on the back of her phone's case. “Um, I dunno, dude. Is there anyone I could call?” 

“D-Dennis?” he blurted out, eager for any way he could be brought in touch with the young man. Would he even know, that he had been dumped the way he was? Would he be back to work, yet? 

“Dennis _Zalewski?_ ” Jackie questioned. Her eyes narrowed as she took him in again, the prison garb he had on and his starved appearance. After a moment she shook her head, mind seemingly made up. “This is fucking weird, but if that's who you want… that's who you mean, right? Dude calls me enough for his drunk coworkers.” 

( _Because of course he was, always the type to make sure they got home safe, the type to go into his own wallet to pay for the taxi but Jackie would sigh and smile at him, tell him she'll get it out of the drunk coworker somehow_ ) 

“Yes, yes, please,” he breathed out, nodding his head to get the vision to fade away. “That's who. Please, just… he'll know who I am.” 

“Okay, man, okay. I'll call him,” Jackie turned her attention back to her phone, seemingly to pick out the right number before she glanced back at him. “Lay back down, Nick. You look like shit, no offense. I'll wake you up if anything happens.” 

“...Okay.” He did as told, curling back up on the back seats, blearily watching as she held the phone up to one ear. “You're… strange.” 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. “Says the guy who snuck into my car to sleep. Shut up now, it's ringing.” 

No protest from him there, just another exhausted sigh as he turned his face to the cushions, eyes closed to drift off once again. 

“Hey, Dennis, it's Jackie. …Yeah, I know, but you're not gonna believe this…” 

~~~ 

No nightmare woke him up this time. Instead he drifted in and out of sleep, curling up further when they began to move. Eventually, the car stopped.

“-ick. Nick, wake up.” A hand on his shoulder started shaking him, making him roll over and slightly up in confusion. “Nick, man, we're at Dennis's house.” 

Jackie was unbuckled, half crouched over the front seat to wake him up and - what did she say? They were _at_ Dennis's house? Why? 

“W-What?” he questioned, only able to catch the barest glimpse of the outside through the window. They were in a wooded area, with a structure that was probably part of a house partially visible. “He's… here?” 

“Yeah, man. Him and Em, they're comin’ out to see you any minute.” Jackie sat back in her seat, satisfied that he was awake. “Just give them a minute or two.” 

Emilia, Dennis's wife - he was finally going to meet her. He was at their _house_ for some reason. For as overwhelming as it felt, it was almost in a good way. 

_Excitement. You feel excited, that's what it is._ Not-Molly was always there to help explain his own feelings to him. 

“So… you prefer the original Africa, or you like the Wheezer version?” Jackie piped up, not even thirty seconds later. 

( _He was about to ask her just what that meant but something in the name Africa made him pause, because yes he knew what that was, it was the song she played on the radio_ ) 

He had only ever heard the one version, so he replied best he could. “The… original?” 

She nodded approvingly, looking at him through the mirror. “Good man. I knew it was a good idea, helping you out.” 

“Thank you, Jackie - ”

The car door was wrenched open, making him start back with some surprise, still only slightly raised on his elbows from his sleeping position, but it didn't matter because his eyes knew who it was only a mere second later, because there he was, one week apart, _and_ \- 

“Buddy!” Dennis cried out, suddenly engulfing him in a hug, half in the car with him. Arms wrapped themselves around him, one winding around his shoulders, the other to his back. An actual, proper hug, not like the one they had in the cell for protection. 

He whimpered, bringing his head down to bury it in Dennis's shoulder, arms around him as well because he was _real_ he wasn't fake, this wasn't Not-Dennis, it was _him_ it was him and it was so long without him. 

“You're okay, I can't believe it,” Dennis's breath hitched as he muttered to him, squeezing him tighter before drawing back slightly. “You're okay, Jesus, I didn't even know they did this to you. I'm so sorry, buddy, if I knew I would've gotten you right away.” 

( _Or course he would this was Dennis he would do anything for someone he -_ ) 

No, no, he wouldn't think that. Much as he relied on Dennis, much as he needed him and appreciated him, it wasn't fair to push a feeling of familial love onto him, was it? He wasn't his responsibility. 

“ - ank you, thank you so much, Jackie.” He realized belatedly that Dennis was speaking, too focused on his own thoughts and feelings. The arm that had been around his shoulders was braced on the seat, one knee up on it. Other hand in his hair, threading through it without a thought. 

( _Almost the same exact way Not-Dennis had after his nightmare, huh?_ ) 

“No problem. But tell me this story later, Zalewski. It's gotta be fuckin’ amazing.” 

Dennis scoffed at her request, an easy smile on his face. “Will do, Torrance. What do I owe you, for the ride?” 

She waved him off, seemingly disinterested, casually watching as he leaned into Dennis's hand. “Nah, it's fine, it's just like helping a lost little kid. ...Your wife is getting antsy, go take him home.” 

Dennis looked back, at where he couldn't see, before drawing back even further 

( _He let out another whimper at the loss of contact because he didn't want to be alone not after that week, even if he knew Dennis wasn't about to run off, he was still scared_ ) 

until he was out of the car. “C'mon, buddy, let's get you inside. We can talk about everything after we get you fixed up.” 

Fixed up - fed, and perhaps a bath, was what he meant. He had slept more than enough in the past week, almost all his downtime it felt like. What else was there to do in his cell? As Not-Dennis said, they didn't even give him books. 

That would be nice. He nodded, scooting forward to get out of Jackie's car as well, almost to stepping his foot out of the door when he promptly glanced up, to the side of Dennis at the new person. 

And promptly shut the door without thinking. 

“Nick?” Jackie asked, almost amused by whatever he was doing. 

It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to see Emilia Zalewski. In fact, he very much looked forward to knowing her, since they both knew Dennis, but from such different perspectives. Meeting her, outside - it was a big step for him. 

Too big a step for a moment. And perhaps, just maybe…he was a bit shy, as well.

Just a bit. 

( _Or more than a bit, maybe, since he did just shut the door on her and Dennis_ ) 

The door opened back up again, revealing Dennis trying to hide a smile by biting his lip. “C'mon, buddy. What's up? I know you… sort of know Em. She's not gonna bite you, I promise.” 

His eyes flickered back to her, smiling down at him as well. She was just as beautiful as she was in his visions through Dennis, long dark hair and large eyes, but more than that. Kindness radiated from her, a gentle presence that helped some of his shyness melt away.

She was also heavily pregnant, enough so he felt bad that she had come out to see him as well. That far along, she should be resting, right? Not that he was an expert on the matter, but… by the redness of her cheeks, he was almost certain prolonged movement had its effect on her. 

“Ohh. Someone’s a bit bashful, I can tell already.”

( _Even though he had heard her accent, faint but still there, through his visions it was still a bit of a start to hear it in person_ )

He blinked at her, a blush beginning to rise on his face. Bashful, that was certainly another word for how he was feeling. There was so much new stuff going on, not even dealing with everything else that happened for him 

( _Or the other Henry Deaver, eventually he would have to reconnect with him, wouldn't he? Work out everything between them, just how there was two of them_ ) 

“Or overwhelmed,” Dennis added, one arm casually winding itself around Emilia, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. To them, it probably was. “Not everyday someone like you gets randomly dumped on the streets. You're fine, buddy. We're just gonna go inside, right?” 

( _Overwhelmed, that's what you're feeling, dear_ ) 

“Right,” he mumbled back, shuffling back to the edge of the carseat, hesitating just a moment longer before planting his feet on the ground. Without his shoes it was an odd feeling, grass underneath his feet. “Sorry, just - overwhelmed.” 

“That's fine,” Emilia said, still with the same smile. But there was some caution in her eyes, not unfounded either. It was odd, wasn't it? The prisoner her husband had been talking about suddenly thrown out, asking for Dennis? “You must be feeling quite on edge.” 

“Let's just go inside,” Dennis encouraged him, taking a step back

( _Just like leading him out of the cage, encouraging words and then taking his steps back so he could shuffle forward_ ) 

with Emilia, gently guiding her back as well, so he could take the first plunge. “We can talk about everything in there.” 

About everything - how much should Dennis really know? What would his reaction be to knowing that he had hallucinated 

( _Or not, it was still up for debate, wasn't it, just what Not-Dennis and Not-Molly were_ ) 

a version of him when he couldn't handle being alone? Couldn't handle the independence he always claimed he wanted? 

_Still so sure this is the right idea?_

And then, back when he was questioning himself after almost a week of absence, was The Bad, as if nothing had happened. Just ready to chip away at his confidence and meager amount of self esteem he had built up with Dennis's help. 

He didn't want to deal with it right now, not when he was so close to being some type of free, having some type of life. 

How could he give in to The Bad, when Dennis and Emilia were in front of him, their house right behind? 

He couldn't - no, he _wouldn't._

“This is the right idea,” he mumbled, before pushing himself out of the car without another word of warning or moment of hesitation. 

The grass was still an odd feeling, though.


End file.
